


Avenging Angel

by imagining_supernatural



Series: Avenging Angel [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Implied Sexual Content, Implied Smut, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-01
Updated: 2018-12-30
Packaged: 2019-01-07 17:05:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 26,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12237087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imagining_supernatural/pseuds/imagining_supernatural
Summary: You’ve spent the last five years on a dangerous mission to solve the crime that wrongly imprisoned your father. When the Winchesters find you half-frozen on the side of a mountain, they make it their own mission to save your life and make sure you stay alive. But after five years of uncovering horribly dark secrets, you’ve learned not to trust anyone. Especially people who seem like they have good intentions.





	1. Chapter 1

_“Oh, god, please don’t kill me!” you begged, tears freezing almost as soon as they fell from your lashes. “I’ll do_ anything _. Just let me live.”_

_“You think you have something that I want?” Braxton asked haughtily, holding his gun steady. “You can’t even tell me where your father used to work. I know more about him than you ever have, and you think you have any bargaining chips left?”_

_“Please. Let me live. Help me get him out and then he can help you again! It’s what we both want!”_

_The wind picked up and snowflakes danced with the ends of your hair, but you couldn’t feel a damn thing. Not with the barrel of your boyfriend’s gun pointed at your face._

_This wasn’t how you were supposed to die. You’d been careful. For five years, your investigation had only led you to situations that ended with you giving yourself stitches in your hotel room. And now you were about to die on some mountainside in the middle of January. They wouldn’t even find your body until Spring._

_"If you knew what I really wanted,” Braxton growled, “Then you wouldn’t have tried to use me.”_

_“I never—“_

_“Don’t lie to me!” He yelled, his finger tightening around the trigger of the gun. “They told me to kill you. Put the bullet in your brain and walk away. But I think that would be too easy, don’t you? Killing you quickly isn’t what I have planned. Tell me, Y/N. In your pitiful years of trying to be an avenging angel, have you ever been tortured? Because these next few hours before you die are going to be the worst hours of your life.”_

_He turned and started walking away. Desperation overcame you, and you lunged for him, already shivering violently. “Braxton, please don’t—“_

_Even through the muffled snowstorm, you couldn’t mistake the loud, resounding crack of a gunshot, or the puff of snow as the bullet impacted into the ground not a foot from your face. Braxton stalked over and grabbed your face in his hand, fire in his eyes. “Don’t follow me, Y/N. Don’t even move. You’re already dead, do you hear me?”_

_With a disgusted snarl, he tossed you aside and left you in a pile of snow. Through the worsening storm, you heard the engine of his truck start and it wasn’t long before there was only the howling of the wind to keep you company._

*****

*****

          You know when you get a really bad brain freeze and you think, “ _This is it. This is how I die”_?

          Well, waking up was like that, but ten times worse  _and_  all over your body. It was like each of your cells had a freezing headache and kept stabbing themselves over and over again.

          But dying wasn’t an option. You’d spent the last five years on a mission and you weren’t about to let your father down. Not when you felt you were getting close to the truth. You couldn’t die. You still had work to do.

          First though, you had to open your eyes and get moving. However, that was proving to be quite the problem. Your limbs weren’t responding to your commands, and the heartbeat under your ear didn’t match the blood you felt—

          Wait.

          The heartbeat under your ear? That wasn’t your heart. And, as your body slowly reconnected with your brain, you realized that you weren’t alone.

          You went into high alert and froze as you took in your situation.

          A slight movement of your arm brushed your skin along a smooth fabric on one side, and the warm muscular body of another human beside you. It took a few moments to puzzle out that you were in a sleeping bag with someone else. And, judging by the muscular chest your head was resting on, you figured it was a man.

          A mostly naked man, you observed as the rest of your body started sending signals to your brain. Slowly, you realized that the stranger beside you was wearing only his boxers, and you were in just your underwear.

          As soon as you fit those puzzle pieces together, you finally got the strength to open your eyes and shove away from the stranger, your body screaming against the sudden movement.

          You weren’t this girl. You weren’t the kind of person who slept around, and you definitely didn’t remember getting into a sleeping bag with any man.

          “Hey,” the man said in a low, gravelly, sleepy voice. “You’re awake.”

          “Who the hell are you?” you asked. Well, you tried anyway. All that came out was a raspy, garbled mess. Your eyes weren’t working quite right. Everything was a hazy blur.

          Not being able to see, not knowing anything about the practically naked man next to you, and not having control over your body sent you over the edge and you curled in on yourself as your breathing picked up and eyes squeezed shut.

          This wasn’t supposed to happen. Your life wasn’t supposed to play out like this!

          “Whoa, calm down there.” One of his large hands reached out to cup your cheek. “I’ll explain everything when you stop hyperventilating.”

          “I—I can’t,” you managed to gasp out between breaths. Your chest felt like it was caving in. Each of your ribs was getting sawed off and was falling into your lungs, puncturing holes through the tissue.

          “Okay, alright then.” Through your panic, you barely registered his soft, smooth voice. “I—maybe we should start with names. I’m Sam Winchester. My brother, Dean, and I were…camping and we came across you. You have hypothermia and you were nearly dead.”

          You reached up to pull his hand off your face, but instead let your hand wrap around his wrist. Your fingers naturally found his strong pulse and slowly you started matching your breaths to the pulse.

          “There we go,” Sam coaxed, rubbing his thumb across your cheek. “This probably won’t help much since you don’t know me, but I promise I’m not some sleaze. I’m just trying to share my body heat with you, okay?”

          He fell silent as you processed the situation again. Your brain was working much slower than usual, so it took longer than it should have.

          Finally, you opened your eyes again. The world was still blurry, but you consciously put the effort into focusing your gaze until Sam’s face solidified in front of you. Locks of long brown hair fell into his concerned hazel eyes and worry lines were etched into his forehead.

          After a minute of letting you think, he spoke up again. “What’s your name?”

          “Y/N,” you whispered, throat burning with the word.

          “Oh! Here, drink this, Y/N.” Sam reached behind him for a thermos. “It’s some warm tea.”

          For a moment you didn’t move. After the last few years you’d had, trusting anyone was the last thing on your mind. And drinking something that a stranger gave you? That was the number one thing that women learned not to do.

          Sam seemed to sense your reservations, because he unscrewed the lid and poured a little into it. He drank it himself before pouring more and holding it out to you.

          “Just tea. I promise. It’ll help with your throat and the heat will help with everything else.”

          You struggled to sit up and Sam quickly set the tea down to help you. He wrapped an arm around your back and you shivered as the change in position let in cold air. Sam pulled a blanket around both of your shoulders and you found yourself leaning heavily into the warmth of his chest. Sam picked up the lid again and held it to your lips. The steam danced along your lips and you wouldn’t have been able to stop yourself from drinking it if you wanted to. It was like your body wasn’t yours anymore. You couldn’t control it. Survival mode had been activated and the warm liquid that sluiced down your throat was more heavenly than you could have imagined.

          “There,” Sam whispered. “That feel better?”

          Nodding shallowly, you still couldn’t hide your shiver. Sam coaxed you further into the sleeping bag and you couldn’t find the strength to fight as he pulled your body into his again. He arranged the blankets to once again cover your heads and ensure that no air could get into the sleeping bag before he spoke again.

          “How are you feeling?”                                                                              

          “Cold,” you murmured. “I have hypothermia?”

          “Yeah.” His confirmation just sent another wave of freezing cold blood through your veins and you pressed even closer to his warmth, burying your face in his neck. He didn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around you as tightly as he could and, for the first time in five years, you felt safe.

          Whoever this Sam Winchester was, he was dangerous. Anyone who could lull you into a false sense of security was someone to be feared. But there was nothing you could do. He had saved your life, and was still saving it. You knew for a fact that if you ran away from him right now, you would die.

          Since you had to stay alive, you had to rely on this stranger for the foreseeable future. And you hated it. 


	2. Chapter 2

_“Good night, honey bear,” your father whispered, kissing your forehead as you snuggled deeper under your covers. “Sleep tight.”_

_He turned to leave your room and you sat up in panic. “Daddy?”_

_“Yes, bear?” He took a few steps back into your room._

_“Daddy, you won’t leave me, right? I don’t want you_ and  _mommy to leave me.”_

_Your father sighed heavily and returned to your bed, taking a seat on your mattress. The weight of his body dragged your small, six-year-old body toward him. “I won’t leave you. I promise, honey bear. You’re gonna be stuck with me forever.”_

_“Forever?”_

_The corners of his eyes crinkled as he smiled down at you. “Forever. You and me? We’re connected. Even when you can’t see me, you’ll still be able to feel me right here,” he tapped your chest, just above your heart. “Keep me right there and you’ll never be alone.”_

_In awe, you put your hand over your heart, looking down at your nightshirt as if you would see the bright, warm glow of your father’s presence. Then you looked up at him with wide eyes. “Is mommy there too?”_

_“Do you want her to be?”_

_You nodded with all of the soberness that you could at six years old._

_Your father smoothed your hair back and kissed your forehead again, lingering so you wouldn’t see the emotion on his face. Even though you couldn’t see it, you could feel it. After all, you and he were connected._

_“Then she’ll always be in your heart too, honey bear.” His whisper was soft and broken. It was a sound that you carried with you for the rest of your life._

* * *

* * *

          “Why were you out here alone?” Sam asked quietly.

          “I got lost,” you lied easily. Lying was second nature to you now. And to think that you had once been the most truthful person anyone had ever met.

          “Lost in the middle of the Rocky Mountains in the middle of winter wearing only jeans and a light jacket?” Doubt coated his every word.

          “Not good with directions.” Speaking still hurt, and thinking hurt worse. Coming up with a plausible lie was beyond you at the moment. Plus, something told you that this Sam Winchester was pretty good at seeing through lies. You would have to be on top of your game.

          “Right,” he drawled.

          Well, time to get his attention off of you. You wanted to know more about him. “Your brother?”

          “Dean. He’s out hunting right now, but he should be back soon.”

          It seemed that Sam wasn’t as good of a liar as he thought. Hunting? In the middle of winter? Most animals were hibernating or had migrated down south. The same snow and chilling wind that nearly killed you also killed his lie.

          “How long?” you asked.

          “We’ve been up here about five days. We found you the day before yesterday.”

          The day before yesterday… if Braxton brought you up here on the twenty-second, that made today… “Twenty-fifth?”

          “Sixth. January twenty-sixth.”

          He’d been expecting you to be dead by nightfall. That meant that four days had passed where the world thought you were dead. In those four days, you father might have gotten wind of your supposed death. It would be like all of his worst fears come true.

          “Hey, it’ll be okay,” Sam assured you, gently rubbing his hand up and down your bare back. “You don’t need to cry.”

          “I’m not—“ But you  _were_ crying. For over five years, you hardly ever cried. The only other time your tears weren’t meant to manipulate someone else was a few days previous. Just before Braxton left you for dead. But crying in the face of death wasn’t something to be ashamed about.

          There _was,_  however, shame to be felt at the way you were breaking down in the arms of this stranger. The events of the last week and being wrapped up in someone’s arms who made you feel strangely safe somehow unlocked the emotions that you’d kept buried deep.

          And now that they started, these damn tears just wouldn’t stop! You didn’t even know why you were crying. How the hell were you supposed to stop?

          Your answer came in the form of footsteps outside of the tent. Logically, you knew that it would be Sam’s brother, Dean. But knowing didn’t stop you from immediately going on alert. Five years spent in shadows taught you that paranoia was better than death.

          “Dean?” Sam called, poking his head out of the blankets.

          “It’s me,” a deep voice confirmed.

          Not wanting to be left out of anything now that you were awake, you pushed the blankets away from your head as well, using a corner to wipe away the tears from your cheeks. The sound of the zippered door sent sparks of fear through your body. You couldn’t do a damn thing, and another person was about to be entered into the equation. If things went south, you were a dead woman.

          “Hey! Sleeping Beauty’s awake,” Dean exclaimed once he closed up the tent and slipped out of his snowy boots.

          “Dean, this is Y/N,” Sam introduced. “She got lost.”

          It wasn’t hard to pick up on the doubt in his voice, and Dean raised his eyebrows. “Lost, huh?”

          “Yup.” Your eyes never left his, challenging him to question you further.

          He just kept his eyes locked on yours for a moment longer, then he turned and pulled out a camping stove. “I bet you’re hungry.”

          “I don’t think my stomach is unfrozen yet.” Besides the pain all over your body, you still couldn’t really feel the rest of your body. “But some more tea?”

          At your request, both men jumped into action. Sam carefully helped you sit up. He made sure to keep the blankets wrapped around you as much as possible. Dean poured more tea into the lid and held it to your lips, letting it trickle into your mouth.

          Just those few moments of action brought you to the brink of exhaustion again and you leaned more heavily into Sam’s chest. Since you obviously weren’t a good liar right now, you had to get the focus off of your past.

          “Do I have frostbite?” you asked with your eyes closed. “I saw this episode of Doctor Sexy M.D. where these guys fell off a cliff and their noses and ears were, like, black and decaying. I just wanna be prepared when I look in a mirror.”

          Dean just chuckled, and when you peeked over at him, he was shaking his head lightly.

          “What?” You asked defensively. “Wouldn’t  _you_  be worried about how you look, Mr. Jawbone?”

          “It’s not that,” Dean said. “It’s just… You have nothing to worry about, Y/N. You look beautiful, even though you almost froze to death.”

          “Mmm. We’ve got ourselves a sweet-talker,” you mumbled. “And thank you.”

          “Anytime, sweetheart,” he replied good-naturedly.

          “No, I mean thank you for saving my life. Both of you. I wasn’t done living yet, so it would have really sucked to die up here.”

          Sam tightened his hold around you in a hug. “You’re welcome, Y/N.”

          Dean nodded in agreement. “Once you’re up to moving, we can head back to the car and get you to a doctor—“

          “No!” You exclaimed, heart constricting with panic. The energy in the tent spiked and became frizzy as both brothers directed their eyes on you. “No doctors.”

          “Y/N. You almost died,” Sam said slowly.

          “But I didn’t. You two made sure of that. And I’m sure that once we get back and I can get a hotel room with a warm bath and room service, I’ll be good as new.”

          Sam’s thumb was tracing circles in your bare waist as he watched you closely. “Why don’t you want to go to a doctor?”

          “I-I just really hate doct—“

          “Y/N,” Dean cut you off with a no-nonsense voice.

          These Winchester boys were too smart for their own good. “Fine,” you relented. “He can’t find me, okay? If you take me to a doctor, they’ll enter me into the system and he’ll know that I’m alive.”

          Sam’s thumb stopped moving. “Who will?”

          “Someone really bad.”

          That didn’t even begin to cover it. In the hour that you had been with the Winchesters, you got the distinct feeling that you could trust them with everything. They could handle the worst you could throw at them. And, as much as you didn’t like it, you felt that you needed their help if you were going to stay off the grid. At least until you fully recovered or got in a position to recover on your own.

          “He obviously thinks I’m dead and if he finds out that I’m alive? Well it won’t be long before I really am dead. So, no doctors. When we get back to a town, you can drop me off at the first motel you see and never look back. There’s no reason for you to get dragged into my drama.”

          The sooner the Winchesters put you in their rearview mirror, the sooner you could be sure that  _they_  were safe from your life. You wouldn’t be responsible for anyone else getting hurt.


	3. Chapter 3

_The pulsing light of the nightclub tempted you to forget your life for one night and just let go. It had been a long time since you allowed yourself to have any fun. You always had to be on your guard._

_But the thumping bass and flashing rainbow of lights had a pull that was too strong. One night couldn’t hurt. After all, you didn’t know how to get in contact with anyone in the Covington family. There were too many small details that pointed to that family to be coincidence. Somehow, they were involved with your father. They might even be the key to finally proving his innocence_

_Planning your next move could wait until morning. Your legs were already moving you toward the side door of the club. The lock was easy to pick, and you were in. As you moved through the back hallways to the main room, you took your hair out of a ponytail and fluffed it up. Next, you tossed your sweater aside, leaving you only in jeans and a tank-top. Not the perfect clubbing outfit, but it would have to do._

_It wasn’t long before you were drawn into the crowd of gyrating bodies. Energy oozed from every pore of this place, and you felt so alive. Head tossed back with a free smile, you danced until you lost track of time._

_Eventually you made your way to the bar for a drink._

_“Gimme a Manhattan,” you told the bartender._

_The warmth of a body behind yours sent alerts through your mind, but you forced yourself to stay loose and relaxed on the outside. “Make that two and put them on my tab.”_

_Turning around, you took in the tall man whose designer clothes hugged his lean body in all the right ways. You let a flirtatious smile sneak onto your face. “Do you always steal the bill?”_

_“Only for beautiful women.” Oh, he had an amazing smile. In another life, it might have made you go weak in the knees. “I’m Braxton Covington, by the way.”_

_Braxton Covington. The only son and heir-apparent to the entire fortune of the family that you had just decided to investigate. Even when you wanted to take a night off, it seemed that fate wouldn’t let you._

_“Covington, huh? Then I guess you really can afford to buy me a drink.”_

_The bartender set your drinks down and Braxton handed yours to you. “I might even be able to afford two drinks, if you tell me your name.”_

_“Do you really think I’m that easy?” You smirked, knowing that the lowlight of the bar and general ambience of the club would make you seem mysterious and sexy: a combination that no man had yet to refuse. While he contemplated his answer, you took a sip of your drink and sighed as the alcohol slid down your throat. Getting drunk had been an option before this new development. Now that you were in the company of a Covington, you would have to be careful._

_“I think… that I would really like to dance with you.”_

_“And I think you just can’t turn down a challenge.”_

_“You’d be right. What do you say?” He took your half-full drink from your hand and held out his arm to escort you to the dance floor._

_You took his arm and winked at him. “Let the games begin.”_

* * *

* * *

          “Someone left you here to die?” Dean asked. You should have known that they wouldn’t just let that one slide and that they would get straight to the point.

          “And you call that drama?” Sam continued. “That’s not drama, Y/N. That’s—that’s—“

          “Kinda like our lives,” Dean shrugged and you raised an eyebrow. Like their lives could be as dangerous as yours. “And when we save someone, we don’t leave them to get killed again.”

          “Yeah. We stick around until we’re sure they’re safe.”

          Of course the guys who saved your lives would have knight in shining armor complexes. These weren’t the kind of guys that you could scare off easily.

          “Look, guys, I really am grateful that you saved my life. And… and I know that I still need you. For now, at least. I obviously can’t take care of myself since I can’t even stop shivering—“

          “That’s actually a good sign,” Sam noted. “You weren’t even shivering when we found you. This means you’re getting better.”

          “Thank you Doctor Winchester. But I’m not all the way better yet. And that doesn’t mean that you guys have to stick around. I’m serious about that hotel room with room service and a warm bath. And I’m serious that you should probably just drop me off and forget you ever met me.” All of this talking was really wreaking havoc on your throat. “Can I have more tea?”

          Dean was quick to comply, though it was disconcerting to have both of their eyes on you while you drank. There was something about these men that made you think they saw more than you wanted them to. And not just because you were only in your bra and underwear. No, these men were perceptive in ways that were dangerous.

          “We can handle more than you think,” Dean said in a low voice when you were done with the cup he’d poured. “And you might just find that we’re really good allies.”

          “And you might just find that I’ll be the person who inadvertently gets you killed. There is a man out there who left me in the middle of a snowstorm because I got reckless. That’s the kind of life I lead.”

          “Reckless is Dean’s middle name,” Sam laughed. “Try again.”

          “Well it’s my life. And I can handle it.”

          “That’s why your own body can’t even make enough heat to keep you alive, right? Because you can handle it?” Dean asked snottily.

          How you wished you could stand up with your hands on your hips and give them all of your sass. Instead, you were stuck in Sam’s arms with his warmth while you tried to argue that you didn’t need them. Irony at its finest.

          “What makes you so sure you can handle my problems, huh? There’s a guy in my life who left me on a mountain to die and you want to help me? I’m sorry, but what on your résumé qualifies you for this job?”

          The brothers shared a look that you couldn’t quite read. Then Sam answered your question, his chest rumbling at your back. “Trust us, Y/N. We can handle it.”

          “Why do you  _want_ to handle it? Why are you so insistent that you help me out? You hardly know me. All that you know is my first name and some rather vague details about how I got in this situation.”

          “Is it so hard to believe that we’re good guys who just want to help?”

          “No one  _just wants to help_ ,” you scoffed. “Everyone has their own agenda.”

          “Pretty cynical outlook on life, huh?” Dean asked, pursing his lips.

          “I like to call it realistic.”

          “Whatever you call it, you’re gonna have to forget about it for a few more days, at least,” Sam announced. “We’ll head back to the car tomorrow morning and get a hotel room once we get to town. If you won’t let us take you to a doctor, you’re gonna have to put up with us being your doctors for a few days.”

          “Or you could just drop me—“ you started muttering, but Sam cut you off.

          “And I have a feeling that the guy who tried to kill you didn’t leave you anything like cash or clothes, so think of a list and we’ll get you whatever you need to get back on your feet again.”

          As exhausted as you were, having someone tell you what to do was actually a nice change of pace. You’d spent the last five years being fiercely independent. And as soon as you got your health back, you were sure that you would be disgusted that you ever let these Winchesters tell you what to do. Until that day came, though, you didn’t have any more fight left in you.

          “Fine. I’ll let you buy me bras and tampons. Happy now?” Sure, you might not have any fight left, but you always had your sass and sarcasm.

          “Ecstatic,” Sam replied blandly.

          “Uh, who’s gonna be doing the shopping?” Dean asked, looking supremely uncomfortable at the thought of buying feminine products.

          Sam just ignored him and announced that it was time to go to sleep. He was insistent that you get your rest, since there was a two mile hike to the car the next day. As you settled into the sleeping bag with Sam, you thought through the next few days. You’d already lost four days. Add a few more days to get rid of the Winchesters, and you would be back on track in about a week. Maybe you would be able to sneak one of their laptops, assuming they had laptops, and make contact with the one person you knew you could trust to assure them that you were alive.

          Then you would throw yourself back into your mission. You were getting close. You could feel it. 


	4. Chapter 4

_“You have five minutes.”_

          Be polite _, you reminded yourself and forced out a tight smile, even though you desperately wanted to punch the guard._ He’s just doing his job.

_You sat on the cold, metal chair and picked up the phone. On the other side of the glass, you father did the same._

_“Daddy, what the hell happened yesterday? I thought your lawyer had some grand plan to prove your innocence?”_

_He merely shrugged. Beneath the orange jumpsuit, you could tell that he’d given up. There was no more fight left in him. Once the judge announced the guilty sentence in the courtroom yesterday, your father had lost his hope. “Life just works out this way sometimes, honey bear.”_

_“No it doesn’t. Not to us. Not like this. You’re innocent! I know that and you know that.”_

_“And that’s enough for me.”_

_“It’s not enough for me. And I know that it’s not enough for you either.”_

_The man on the other side of the glass was a stranger to you. The Kemuny Y/L/N that you knew always stood straight and had a piercing glare that could get even the President of the United States to immediately agree to whatever he had suggested. The Kemuny Y/L/N that you knew would have worn that orange jumpsuit like a lab coat, not stopping until he’d solved his problem. The Kemuny Y/L/N you knew wouldn’t be fine leaving you in the world alone._

_“I’m gonna get you out of here, Dad. I’m gonna prove that you’re innocent. That the evidence they had against you is all bull and someone tried to frame you and—“_

_“Y/N, no. You will not do any of that, do you hear me?” For the first time this visit, you father finally had some fire in his eyes. He was sitting on the edge of his chair, leaning forward to make sure he had your attention. “You will_ not _look into what happened that night. You won’t worry yourself with this.”_

_“I can’t just leave you in here.”_

_Your father ground his teeth and fixed you with his signature glare that normally had you cowering and admitting that_ yes, I did sneak out to that party last night _._

_“You_ will _leave me in here. Because whoever framed me is powerful enough to make a whole jury believe that an innocent man in guilty. They are powerful enough to put me in prison for the rest of my life. Think of what they could do to you.”_

_The way he talked about the powerful people behind his conviction sparked your curiosity. “Do you know who framed you?”_

_At your question, he quickly sat back and resumed his beaten-down persona. “Let it go, bear.”_

_“Daddy, do you know anything? Please, you have to tell me.”_

_“Ma’am? Your time is up,” the guard cut in, but you ignored him._

_“Dad! What do you know?”_

_“I love you, honey bear. And I’ll always be with you. Don’t forget.” He tapped his heart and hung up the phone. All that you could do was watch as a guard escorted your father away. Kemuny Y/L/N was an innocent man marked as a felon._

_But you were determined to change that._

* * *

* * *

          “Room 41,” Dean said when he came back to turn off the car. “And, yes, I made sure there was a bathtub, not just a shower.”

          “Thank you,” you smiled over-sweetly. Not counting the time you’d been unconscious, you’d been with the Winchesters for nearly 24 hours and they were getting on your nerves.

          Or maybe it was just that you couldn’t do a damn thing. You hadn’t even made it half a mile on your hike from the tent to the car before you collapsed and Sam and Dean took turns carrying you the rest of the way. And on the three hour car ride back to civilization, you’d barely been able to move. Sam piled blankets around the two of you and Dean turned the heater on high for the entire ride home, but none of that stopped your shivering for even a minute. Both men were sweating from the hike and the hot car, but you still couldn’t even feel your feet.

          You’d never been this helpless in your entire life.

          “Sammy, you get the bags. I’ve got you, Y/N.”

          Dean slid an arm under your legs and his other arm around your back. He carefully lifted you out of the car, making sure you didn’t bump your head. Reluctantly, you wrapped your arms around his neck and rested your head on his shoulder. “I really wish I could self-righteously tell you to put me down and that I can walk by myself.”

          “Next time, sweetheart.”

          “I suppose there could be worse things than having two hot guys seeing to my every need,” you muttered, making Dean chuckle. He managed to unlock the door without putting you down.

          It was amazing what having four solid walls between you and the weather did for you. You didn’t hear every wisp of the breeze as it blew over the tent, and there were no snowflakes racing toward you through the windshield of the car. Even though the room wasn’t nearly as warm as the car had gotten, you felt extremely better already.

          Dean set you down on the bed, and it was like all of your limbs melted into the mattress. “Oh, this is amazing.”

          You managed to roll over and grab a pillow to hug to your chest just as Sam walked in. “I guess you won’t be so mad at me when I tell you that you can’t take a bath yet, huh?”

          At that, you turned your head and glared at the younger brother. “You wanna run that by me again?”

          “While you were asleep in the car, I looked some stuff up on my phone when we finally got service again. You need to warm up a little more before you get in a tub of hot water. We don’t want to shock your system.”

          “I hate you,” you mumbled, immediately recognizing the logic behind his words.

          He just laughed and jostled the bed when he sat down. “C’mon. Let’s make a list while we warm you up some more. Then we can send Dean to the store while you take a bath.”

          “Why am I the one who has to go to the store?”

          “Do you wanna babysit?” Sam asked as he pulled you under the covers with him. In the last twenty-four hours, your body had gotten used to immediately getting as close to his as possible.

          “I don’t wanna go buy—uh,  _things_. And babysitting Y/N isn’t too bad.”

          You rolled your eyes. “Just say the word  _tampon_ , Dean. It won’t kill you. Besides, I was just kidding about those. My period won’t start for another week and a half at least. By then I’ll be out of your hair.”

          “Who wants some soup?” Dean asked energetically, changing the subject quickly.

          As he passed by the TV, he turned on a news channel on low volume. The background noise made the room seem less tense. Sam reached for the notepad and pencil on the bedside table and started writing down everything you listed that you would need, while Dean got to work making food.

          You had every intention of paying the boys back for everything they bought, plus some extra for saving your life. But you had to get in contact with your friend first and let them know where to leave some money. That meant you needed to sneak some time on Sam’s laptop.

          “Socks. I have a feeling I’m going to want to wear a few layers for the next few weeks. I don’t think I’ll ever be warm again.” You watched Sam write down  _A Lot of Socks_. “And a burner phone. Whatever’s cheap.”

          Just then, the news reporter mentioned a familiar name that drew your attention to the TV. “Braxton Covington announced his engagement to Y/N Y/L/N yesterday. The family is excited to welcome—“

          “What the hell?” you exclaimed. You reached over Sam for the remote and turned the volume on the TV up, watching as your ex-boyfriend and someone who looked a lot like you smiled widely for the cameras at a press conference, proudly displaying a giant diamond ring. It took you a minute to tune back in to what the reporter was saying. The sight of you on the TV when you didn’t remember any of it definitely threw you for a loop.

          “The heir-apparent to the Covington fortune issued a statement that he can’t wait to settle down with Miss Y/L/N. But who is his mysterious bride-to-be and how has she stayed out of the spotlight so long? Stay tuned as we take a deeper look tonight at eight o’ clock.”

          “Y/N?” Sam asked uncertainly.

          “That’s… that’s not me. I-I-I don’t know what’s going on.” You couldn’t tear your eyes from the TV screen. The reporter moved onto a new topic, but the ribbon at the bottom scrolled through a message that was becoming seared into your brain.

_Braxton Covington announces engagement to Y/N Y/L/N._

          The last time you’d seen that man was when he left you for dead nearly five days ago. But apparently you’d gotten engaged to him last night.


	5. Chapter 5

_“Good evening. Do you have a reservation?”_

_“I’m actually here to meet someone,” you replied, glancing around the restaurant. “Charles Haverton?”_

_“You must be Miss Y/L/N. Right this way.”_

_As you followed the maître d to the table, you realized just how out of place you were. Mr. Haverton told you to dress nicely and it had taken you three hours of research and shopping before you found a little black dress with a metallic bronze belt that you felt comfortable in and matched the restaurant he’d chosen. Then the employee at the boutique reminded you that you needed shoes and jewelry and a handbag if you really wanted to fit in._

_Being the daughter of two scientists meant that you grew up playing dress up in your parents’ lab coats, rather than with dresses. Beakers and microscopes were your accessories and chemical mixtures were your perfume. And a degree from MIT didn’t exactly help you understand fancy restaurants or the etiquette needed to blend in._

_Nonetheless, here you were._

_“Y/N!” Mr. Haverton exclaimed warmly, standing up to kiss you on both cheeks. “My, how you’ve grown. The last time I saw you, you could barely see over the counter.”_

_“It’s a funny thing what life does to you.” A waiter pulled out your seat and you smiled graciously as you sat down. For a few minutes, you did the small talk thing while looking over the menu. Charles Haverton had been your father’s partner a few years ago. If anyone knew what was going on, it would be him._

_“I heard about Kemuny’s verdict on the news last month,” Mr. Haverton said, clearly signaling the end to the pointless conversation. “Such a shame.”_

_“He’s innocent. You know that, right?”_

_“It… came as a shock to me. Kemuny has one of the brightest minds in the world. It’s such a shame to see his talents go to waste in prison.”_

_That didn’t answer your question. “Charles, you worked with him for nearly my whole life. He just isn’t capable of killing an entire houseful of people.”_

_“You never know what someone is capable of until they are put in an impossible situation, dear.”_

_You stared at him in disbelief. “You… you think he’s guilty?”_

_“Your father is a great man, Y/N. Never doubt that. But if you came here tonight, hoping that I would have some evidence that could overturn the court’s verdict, then I’m afraid that you’ll be very disappointed.”_

_“There has to be something. You worked with him for almost twenty years! Help me prove that he’s innocent. Please, Charles.”_

_The old man sighed and set his silverware down. He reached across the table and grabbed one of your hands in his wrinkled fingers. “I wish I could help you, Y/N. I truly do.”_

* * *

* * *

          After five days of being frozen, slipping into a warm bath was heavenly.

          Well, it would have been if you could shut off your mind. Now that you were back in civilization and you’d been shoved back into reality, you couldn’t stop thinking about your next move. Beyond the next day or two, you had no idea what to do.

          Sure, you had had a plan back when you were still with Braxton. But all of your options had been put on hold until you could figure out who the hell was pretending to be you. And why Braxton would even want to be engaged to you. He thought you were dead. He had _left_ you for dead, yet he proposed to fake-you three days later?

          Nothing was adding up.

          “Your middle name is Entropy?” Sam called through the open door. You hadn’t felt comfortable being completely alone after what you saw on the TV. Besides, Sam and Dean had both seen you practically naked anyway and you trusted them to stay away from the bathroom door.

          “My parents were both geeky scientists.”

          “Were?” A beat of silence passed before he mumbled an understanding, “Oh.”

          Apparently he’d found some articles explaining how your mother disappeared when you were six and you father was arrested five years ago. The internet made it so much more difficult to remain a mystery. Still though, there were many things that not even the all-knowing Web could have on you.

          “Whatever you find on me, just remember that it’s only a quarter of the story. My life is way more messed up than anything a journalist could even fathom, much less write about.” Closing your eyes, you leaned your head back and sunk deeper into the water. “And my father is innocent, by the way.”

          While Sam read up on the internet-version of you, you set about washing the last few days off of you. Luckily, concentrating on moving your arms took up most of your brain power, so you didn’t have room to worry about what the next few weeks would bring. It was like your muscles had been so prepared for your death that they were having a hard time waking up again. By the time you finished washing your hair, you were breathing heavily from exertion.

          “You okay in there?” Sam called.

          “I used to be able to run five miles, no problem. Now just taking a bath is enough to knock me out.”

          “Hey now, you almost died. Take it easy on yourself.”

          “If only I could,” you mumbled, thinking about your father sitting in prison, your ex-boyfriend slash fiancé sitting with your imposter, and your mother sitting wherever she was.

          Because she wasn’t dead. No matter how many people told you that she was, you knew she was alive. And, once you freed your father, you would find her. The three of you would be a family again.

          With that motivation, you managed to get out of the tub and dry off, though that took herculean effort. As soon as you did the buttons up on one of Dean’s shirts and rolled the waist band of Sam’s sweats a few times, you grabbed the hair dryer attached to the wall and set to work drying your hair. Not even a minute passed before you couldn’t hold your arms up anymore, and the dryer fell to the counter, the sound of impact accompanied by your frustrated yell.

          “What’s going on?” Sam asked, cautiously entering the bathroom.

          “I can’t even dry my own hair,” you laughed bitterly. “I can barely walk, I’m still freezing, I have no cash or clothes or anything to my name right now. And I have no clue what the hell is going on or what I should do next!”

          Sam picked up the hair dryer and tossed it between his hands experimentally. “Turn around.”

          You did as he asked and watched his reflection in the mirror while he tried to figure out how to work the dryer. “There’s a button right—“

          The soft whirring of the crappy hotel hair dryer cut you off and Sam awkwardly started drying your hair. “I can’t imagine how hard this is for you.”

          “You know, you can actually  _touch_  my hair.” You didn’t want to talk about yourself, and Sam seemed to think that hair got dry just by holding the dryer like a gun pointed at your head. So you figured that teaching him a new trick would be a much better way to change the subject rather than just not replying. “That’s how you get to the roots which is where it really needs to be dry if I don’t wanna relapse into a popsicle again.”

          Sam eventually got better at drying your hair, but by the time he was finished, you were basically asleep on your feet. Washing your body and standing for a few minutes had completely wiped you out. Sam helped you over to a bed and he tucked you in with a promise to come be your own personal heater in a few minutes. You were nearly asleep when you heard Dean come back from his shopping trip.

          “Learn anything new about her?” Dean asked quietly, apparently assuming that you were asleep.

          “Her parents were both scientists. Mom left when she was a kid. Dad’s in jail for some big, bloody massacre a few years ago. She says he’s innocent. But other than that, I got nothing out of her.” They fell silent for a moment and you were so close to falling asleep, then Sam exclaimed, “Oh! Take a look at this. I was looking up footage from the press conference where that Covington dude announced his engagement to Y/N and I think I got something.”

          There was the muffled noise of a news clip for a moment before Sam paused it. “Did you see it?”

          “Yeah. Eye flare. You’re thinking shifter? This is actually a real case?”

          His nonsense words sparked a faint memory of one of your father’s journal entries from his experiments, but you didn’t have time to delve into the memory before sleep washed over you like a wave on a beach.


	6. Chapter 6

_You flipped the key between your fingers as you strode down the hallway of storage units. It had been months since you had a lead this big and you couldn’t afford to screw it up. Everywhere you turned, it seemed like your father just got deeper and deeper into things that you couldn’t understand, but you had a bad feeling about._

_This key had been hidden in a box hidden under the floorboards in your dad’s old lab. And the only way you found the box in the first place was by going through all of your father’s notes from old cases and experiments. Hidden in a margin on a page full of science jargon was a clue that no one but you and your father would understand._

          Land of Hollen. Raptor. 3-6 and 2 down.

_When you were a child, you loved playing in your father’s lab in the backyard while he worked. He would give you scraps of things that he didn’t need anymore and you would make up stories. All of your stories took place in your special fantasy Land of Hollen. The Land of Hollen only existed in your father’s lab. As soon as you two went back to the house, all was forgotten. It was your little secret._

_Three feet forward from the door. Six feet to the left. Two feet down. That’s where his hidden box of treasure had been._

_You still didn’t understand the raptor reference._

_Once you found the box and had the key, it hadn’t taken you long to figure out where it went. A few minutes hacking the serial number from the key manufacturer and you were good to go._

_And now you were standing in front of unit 8437 with key in hand. You took a deep breath before inserting the key. As the lock disengaged, you prepared yourself to find out what your father’s secret Land of Hollen was all about._

_The door swung open and you let out the breath you’d been holding._

_It turned out, his Land of Hollen included a lot of boxes. The storage unit with the carefully hidden key really was_ just _a storage unit. There was nothing cool or interesting. Just boxes with files upon files._

_There was a noise from the hallway, so you quickly stepped in and closed the door behind you. These files must be hidden for a reason. Sifting through them to find that reason wasn’t your idea of a good time, but prison probably wasn’t your father’s idea of a good time either._

_It was time to get to work._

* * *

* * *

          The glow of the clock told you that it was three in the morning. Beside you, Sam was breathing deeply in sleep. His arm was loosely wrapped around you, and his face was buried in your neck. Dean was fast asleep on his stomach on the other bed.

          Both Winchesters were asleep. This was your chance to get in contact with your friend.

          So you cautiously slipped away from Sam, pausing once you were standing. He shifted around for a moment and his eyes fluttered open. “Y/N?”

          “Bathroom,” you whispered. “I’ll be right back.”

          “Mmkay.”

          You waited a moment more to make sure he was really asleep again before tiptoeing over, grabbing his laptop, and heading into the bathroom. Once there was a door between you and the boys, you opened the computer and every cell in your body sighed in relief when the screen lit up. It seemed like forever since you last had the chance to be on a computer.

          It only took a few strokes of the keys before you were in. Sam had a few layers of protection, but they were nothing compared to what you were used to.

          You yearned to sniff around and find out what files Sam had on this computer, but had to shelf that curiosity for later. Instead, you pulled up a browser and typed in the URL for the blog that you always used to connect to your friend. Opening the comments for the last article posted, you scrolled through until you found the comment you were looking for.

          Beka834:  _WTF r u doing? –t9_

          Clicking on the username, you ran a few tests until you found the email behind the user. Your friend was a paranoid as you were, and constantly changed their online profile. The only way you could get in contact with them was by looking for their pattern.

          After hacking into some random email with the screen name Yeller_38, you opened chat with the email behind Beka834.

          Yeller_38:  _t9, that’s not me_

          You didn’t have to wait long before your friend got back to you. After everything had had happened in the last week—you going dark on them, the announcement of your proposed engagement, and the increased intensity on the information you’d been uncovering—it wasn’t a surprise that t9 would be waiting for any word from you.

          Beka834:  _Where have you been? It’s been over a week! And engaged? You’re taking the undercover thing a bit too far._

          Yeller_38:  _Not me. Not engaged. First few days I couldn’t get away from the Cs. Then BC tried to kill me. Luckily some campers found me and saved me. And that’s not me on TV. I swear. I have no idea who BC is engaged to, but it’s not me._

          Yeller_38:  _Can you look up Sam and Dean Winchester for me? Run backgrounds, find anything alarming? They’re being too helpful to not have ulterior motives. I’ll find a way to check back tomorrow to see what you find._

          There was no reply for a long minute. T9 usually responded right away. Your conversations lasted only minutes, so you both had to be quick to reply.

          Finally, they wrote back.

          Beka834:  _Winchester? Get away from them, Y/N. ASAP. They’re bad news._

          Yeller_38:  _Reasons?_

          Beka834:  _Trust me on this one._

          T9 had never let you down before. They always came through with good information. After the first few months you worked with them, you found yourself trusting them as you had trusted your father.

          Then why couldn’t you bring yourself to blindly trust them now? After all, you’d known them for three years, and you only met the Winchesters three days ago. It should be a no brainer.

          Yeller_38:  _I’ll try. But I’m out of everything and for now they’re the only thing keeping me alive._

          Beka834:  _Where are you? I’ll send you whatever you need to get away from them._

          Your fingers hesitated over the keys. It wasn’t like you hadn’t asked t9 for money or transportation before. You knew that they would come through, as you always did when they asked you for favors. All that you had to do was set up a time and drop spot and you could leave this week behind and get back to figuring out how to get your father out of prison.

          Since you didn’t know what to do, you decided to do nothing. There were times both of you had to leave the conversation immediately, so this wouldn’t be too out of the ordinary.

          Yeller_38:  _Gtg. Send you location tomorrow._

          You quickly exited the chat and systematically cleared away all evidence that you’d ever been on Sam’s laptop. Just as you were about to close the laptop, you spotted an icon on the desktop and froze.

          It was one that you’d seen a few times in your father’s notes. One night, when you’d hit a dead end, you spent a few hours trying to find out what the symbol meant, but the only thing you managed to uncover was that it is a unicursal hexagram. Other than that, you had no idea what it meant.

          Maybe t9 was right. These Winchesters could mean trouble for you. But this symbol linked them to your father, even in a small way. You needed to know what they knew.

          The cursor hovered over the icon and you were about to open it when one of the boys mumbled something in their sleep and the springs in the mattress whined as they rolled over.

          Later.

          You shut the laptop, returned it right where you found it, and climbed back in bed with Sam.

          “You’re cold again,” he mumbled, wrapping around you like an octopus.

          “Pretty sure that’s permanent now,” you replied in a whisper, pressing closer. Sam accommodated your movements, shifting until he was halfway laying on top of you and you were surrounded by his warmth. As soon as your face was buried in his neck, it was like your whole body let out a sigh and could finally relax.

          Why in the world would t9 want you to get as far from the only two people who made you feel safe for the past five years? What could be so bad in their past that your two saviors would pose a threat to you? You’d survived a year of being Braxton Covington’s girlfriend and four years before that uncovering unsavory secrets of your father’s past.

          What made the Winchesters so dangerous? 


	7. Chapter 7

_“What can I get for you?” the woman asked from behind the counter._

_“I saw that you guys are hiring. I like coffee and I like food and I like people.” You shrugged as if you were the obvious option. “Who do I talk to to get a job?”_

_She leaned forward and eyed you calculatingly. Your eyes dropped to her nametag briefly. Kallista raised her eyebrows once she finished her internal debate. “Have you ever worked behind a counter before?”_

_“Yeah,” you lied, “All through high school.”_

_“What’s your name?”_

_“Y/N Y/L/N. I just moved in.”_

_“And what brings you to my town?”_

_This was starting to feel suspiciously like an interview. “Family drama back home. I needed a new start and change of scenery.”_

_“I’ll tell you what,” Kallista said after a moment of contemplation. “We’re short-handed today since Bailey called in sick, and the lunch rush is about to start. If you can make it through the rest of the shift, you have the job.”_

_“Challenge accepted.” Without waiting for further invitation, you swept around the counter and set about washing your hands. “Can I use that apron?”_

_In the few minutes before the lunch rush, Kallista stuffed your brain full of so much information about policies and procedures that it was difficult to remember the reason you chose this diner._

_Quentin Gretem worked in the building across the street. He was mentioned in your father’s research notes quite a bit, and according to his credit card activity, he came into this diner nearly every day for lunch. You knew that Quentin usually took his lunch half an hour early to avoid the rush, according to the security cameras you hacked._

_You just had to wait a few weeks to build rapport and determine what kind of man he was before bringing up your father. After Mr. Haverton, you found out that the cold approach never worked._

_“You’re new,” Quentin observed first thing when he walked in. From your in-depth research on him, you knew that he was only a few years older than you, but seeing him in person made you realize that he was definitely in you league, and your plans shifted._

_“She’s on a trial basis today,” Kallista replied easily._

_“But I’ll be filling out a W2 by the end of the day. I’m not the kind of person you let go of so easily.” You winked good-naturedly. “What can I get for you today?”_

_“He’s a usual.” Kallista supplied. “Coffee black, BLT on rye, and soup of the day.”_

_“Same thing every day?” you asked Quentin, shaking your head a little. “Doesn’t that get boring?”_

_He shrugged, and his relaxed stance told you that he was totally fine with a few minutes of conversation. “The soup changes every day.”_

_“Oh, I see. And that’s enough change for you?”_

_His eyes gleamed and a half smile found its way to his face. “What would you suggest, Trial-Basis?”_

_This was good. You were getting him to change his routine. It was a small request, but small things like this build enormous amounts of trust._

_“I haven’t actually tried anything yet, but there’s this club quesadilla on the menu. I have no idea what’s in it, but I saw someone eat one and it looked delicious and smelled even better. I’m definitely going to order one while I fill out my new-hire paperwork later today.”_

_“What if it’s not good?”_

_“Then you’ll have to tell me and save my taste-buds. Be my knight in shining armor.”_

_He laughed. “I’ll get one of those club quesadillas today, then.”_

_“My hero,” you cooed theatrically, tapping his order on the tablet. “Club quesadilla, coffee black, and the soup of the day._

* * *

* * *

          “This breakfast burrito is like manna straight from heaven,” you moaned around a mouthful of eggs, sausage, and hashbrowns. “I haven’t had food like this in a year.”

          “What kind of food have you had?” Dean asked, studiously not looking at you. You knew the move. It was the kind of interrogation move that made it seem like your answer didn’t matter.

          Still though, you decided to throw them a bone. “The rich kind. I may not be engaged to Braxton, but I  _did_  date him.”

          “You dated that douchebag? And he doesn’t realize that you aren’t you?”

          “Oh, I’m pretty sure he knows.” Suddenly the burrito didn’t taste so good. Your simple comment about rich food seemed to have opened a can of worms right into the tortilla. “He was the last person to see me before you guys found me.”

          Both men gaped at you. Then Dean stuck his head forward slightly and raised his eyebrows. “Come again?”

          “I sure know how to pick ‘em, don’t I?” You set the burrito down on the plate and made a decision. When it came to trusting t9 or trusting your instincts, your instincts won hands-down.

          “I thought that I could use Braxton to get some information that I needed. It turns out that he wanted to use me to get information that he needed. And when I made him believe that I didn’t have that info, he decided that I knew too much about him and his family and they had him kill me.”

          It took the boys a minute to digest what you just revealed. And that was just a small part of your past. You wondered what they would do if they ever learned everything that you had uncovered about your parents.

          “What kind of information?”

          “I needed info about stuff that his family hired my dad to do. He needed information about, well, stuff that my dad did for his family. If we worked together, we both might have gotten what we wanted. But I didn’t trust him enough.”

          “Seems like you were right not to trust him.”

          “I’ve learned to trust my instincts.”

          Sam rested his forearms on the table and leaned toward you. “And did your instincts tell you to steal my laptop last night?”

          Somehow, you weren’t too surprised that he knew. You were learning that these Winchesters were a different breed of people than you were used to dealing with.

          “My instincts are telling me to ask you why the friend that I contacted last night would warn me to stay as far from you two as possible.” They shared an indecipherable look and your muscles tensed. “And don’t even think about lying to me. They said you were dangerous. And they didn’t even need to look you two up. Now, I believe that some things are coincidences, but the one person I’ve come to trust in the last five years and the two men who saved my life in the middle of nowhere knowing each other? That’s a pretty big coincidence. So who are you?”

          “What do your instincts say?” Dean asked, obviously trying to buy himself some time.

          “That this is way too complicated to form a solid opinion right now.” The connection between t9 and the Winchesters, the icon on Sam’s desktop matching symbols drawn in your father’s notes, and the Winchesters just happening to be on the same mountain in the middle of nowhere when you were left to die. Something was up, and you wanted to know what. “Start talking.”

          “Who is your friend?” Sam’s voice was guarded.

          “I’m don’t really know.” You supposed that comment deserved more of an explanation. “I’ve never met them in real life. We talk on the internet and help each other out when we can.”

          Dean scratched at the back of his head and glanced at his brother. They seemed to have a silent conversation for a moment. “We won’t hurt you, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

          “I’m not. I just want to know… why, I guess. Why does my friend say you’re dangerous? Why do you want to help me? Why were you on the mountain?”

          “Fine. But if we answer your questions, you have to answer some of ours,” Sam bargained.

          Now  _that_  was not what you wanted at all. But fair was fair. You just needed to find out what kind of questions they had. “Alright. You go first.”

          Dean deferred to Sam, who looked ready with an arsenal of questions. “What day did Braxton leave you on the mountain?”

          That question definitely threw you for a loop. Why would that even matter? There were so many more question that he could have asked. “January twenty-second. Why?”

          “Is that your question?”

          “No.” He was going to play hardball, was he? Then you would just have to find other ways to satisfy your curiosity. “Why were you on the mountain?”

          “Hunting,” Dean said simply. You waited for them to expound on that answer, but neither of them said anything more, and you had a feeling that wasn’t the end of the story.

          “How are you still alive?” Sam asked.

          “You… saved me? I think that one’s pretty obvious.”

          “No, Y/N. Braxton left you on the twenty-second. We found you on the twenty-fourth. You should have been dead long before then. It only takes a few hours in the kind of storm that you were in. And you should have been covered in frostbite, but you only had a little.” Sam sat forward and locked his eyes on yours. He must have seen your shock in your wide eyes, because he softened his tone a little. “So how are you still alive?”

          You tore your eyes away and fixed your gaze on the curtain behind him as you processed his words. You _should_  be dead. There was no reason that you should have even made it through an hour, much less over twenty-four hours.

          “I—I don’t know.”


	8. Chapter 8

_“This one, or this one?” Braxton asked, holding up two ties._

_“You can pull both of them off,” you replied distractedly, scrolling through an old article about one of your father’s old partners._

_Braxton tossed the ties onto the dresser and came to sit next to you on the bed, kissing your cheek. “What’re you reading?”_

_“An article on Charles Haverton. He worked with my dad a while ago. This article was posted a month before they broke up.”_

_“And you’re trying to find out why they called it quits?” Braxton guessed correctly. “Find anything?”_

_“A big load of nothing.” Annoyed, you closed your laptop and tossed it to the other side of the bed._

_“Maybe you should call that Charles guy and ask him.”_

_“I already did. Four years ago.”_

_“And?”_

_“And nothing. Again. I’m never going to get my dad out of there.” If there was one thing you’d learned about Braxton since you met him, it was that he needed you to be the damsel in distress. He needed to feel like the knight in shining armor. And the more you catered to his needs, the more open he became. So if you had to act a little down-trodden, then you could._

_And it wasn’t actually hard. After over four years of investigating with only a storage unit full of confusion to show for it, it seemed like prison was going to be your father’s permanent home._

_“Hey now,” Braxton shifted until he was sitting in front of you, where you laptop had been. “We’ll get him out of there. I promise.”_

_“No offense, but what good will you be? You didn’t know him. I lived with the man for my whole life and I’m realizing that I don’t even know him.”_

_If you hadn’t been looking for it, you would have missed the preparation for the lie he was about to tell. Braxton_ had _known your father personally. And his family even more so. Soon, you would be able to get him to tell you all about it. “I don’t know him, but I know you, Y/N. And I know that you’re not lying about him. He’s innocent, and we_ will _get him out.”_

_“That was good. I almost believed you,” you teased._

_He grinned and pressed you back until you were laying down. “Between my money and connections and your Felicity Smoak computer skills, there’s nothing we can’t do.”_

_“I knew you’d like The Arrow.” You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him down until he was laying on top of you._

_Moments like this made you nostalgic for a real relationship. And it was during moments like this that you made yourself forget that this was fake. Braxton Covington might be as shady as your father was turning out to be, but that didn’t mean that you couldn’t enjoy a few moments of normal each day._

_“I do like The Arrow,” he mumbled, kissing you lightly. “But I love_ you _.”_

_“Braxton,” you gasped, surprised. Little shocked you anymore, but his declaration definitely shook you. He thought your relationship was real. Which meant that he really did love you. Were you a bad person for letting this go on?_

_“Don’t look so surprised, Y/N. You’re the kind of person who people fall for every day. And I’m the one lucky enough to be able to call you mine.”_

_“Braxton,” you said carefully._

_He just kissed you quickly. “Don’t say anything. I’m not expecting you to tell me that you love me yet.”_

_“Yet?”_

_Rather than answering that, he pressed his lips to yours and you let his weight on top of your body and the hard muscles of his back under your fingers wash away all of your anxiety and doubt._

* * *

* * *

          “Why are you so sure that your father is innocent?” Dean asked a while later. Sam had gone to the grocery store since he apparently didn’t trust Dean to get the kind of food that you needed to be nursed back to health.

          But that didn’t mean that the questions stopped.

          “I’m not saying he’s completely innocent.” This was the first time you admitted that out loud. “I’m just saying that he’s not a killer. He shouldn’t be in prison for killing those people. My dad… he’s like a kid in a toy store, but the store is his lab. If someone shows him a problem or presents him with a scenario, then he’ll latch onto it and work and obsess over it until it gets fixed or he understands everything. But he just doesn’t have it in him to kill fourteen people.”

          Talking about your dad brought a wave of homesickness over you, and you closed your current internet search about survival in freezing weather to start hacking into the prison records. It had been a while since you’d checked in on your father.

          “You said that Sam was pre-law at Stanford, right? Why did he drop out?” you asked distractedly, thinking through a different way to hack the prison. You had to change all of your patterns if you didn’t want the Covingtons to be able to find you.

          “Uh, our dad went missing. Sammy and I, well, we went looking for him.”

          A glance at the eldest Winchester told you that there was more to the story than that. Dean was carefully cleaning a gun—the Winchesters had more guns and weapons than any other hunter you’d met—and avoiding your eyes at all costs.

          Then he cleared his throat and turned the question back onto you. “What did you mean when you said that you dad isn’t completely innocent?”

          Now it was your turn to avoid Dean’s eyes. You focused back on the computer, letting your fingers fly over the keys as you concocted an answer that would satisfy Dean.

          “I told you that Dad would obsess over  _any_  problem someone presented him. And, well, I’ve spent the last five years uncovering his research and it’s not all… good. I don’t understand much of it, but what I do is shady at best. So it’s not my dad that’s the bad guy, but he wasn’t one to tell the bad guys to get lost when they came sniffing. They gave him a challenge and money, and he didn’t seem to ask questions or care what they would use his research for.”

          “What kind of research did he do?”

          “Nice try, Winchester. It’s my turn.” You finally cracked the firewall around the prison records and started moving through the familiar system to find your father’s file. “Did you ever find your—oh my God.”

          “What’s going on?” Dean immediately went on alert at your pained exclamation. He set the gun parts down on the bed and came over to sit next to you. His arm naturally fell over your shoulders and he peered at the screen.

          “My dad. He… he was attacked.” You tore your eyes from the medical record in front of you and balled up your fists in your lap. Every fiber of your being was calling you to that prison to visit your father and tell him that everything was going to be alright.

          “It looks like he’s going to live,” Dean said, reading through the file.

          You squeezed your eyes closed and pursed your lips. Red-hot, boiling anger washed over you. “That’s not the point. He’s been attacked before, but it was always… normal. Regular prison stuff. This is the Covingtons. They either know that I’m still alive, or they want to see if I am.”

          “By… having your father hospitalized?”

          “Every time anything happened to him in the past, I would always rush over and check on him, or I would at least send a message.” You reopened your eyes and tried to focus on the screen, but sudden tears blurred your vision. “But I can’t. I can’t even send an encrypted message through someone else because they’ll know. And my dad… he’s going to know that something is wrong.”

          Dean pulled you closer to his side and you surrendered to his comfort. “If you wanted me to, I could—“

          “No. Thank you, but no. I can’t risk the Covingtons finding out that I’m still alive until I figure out what the hell I’m doing and who is pretending to be me and  _why_  they want a fake-me.”

          “Do you really think they could find out—“

          “Yes,” you cut him off again. “The Covingtons… they had me killed because I knew too much. Think…. Think mafia. But… weirder.”

          “Weirder how?”

          “Just… weirder. I mean, I don’t know. That might be normal mafia-ness. I’ve never actually met a member of the mafia. That I’m aware of, anyway.”

          “Y/N,” Dean prompted when you trailed off, thinking through all of the weird and secretive people you had met throughout the years. “Covingtons.”

          You shook yourself from your memories. “Right. I’ve spent a lot of time with the Covingtons. I met Braxton over a year ago. I dated him for a year, and I lived with him for the last eight months—“

          “All this for some information?”

          Locking eyes with Dean so that he could see the semi-truth in your eyes, you kept your explanation short. “If you knew half the stuff I’ve found out since my dad was found guilty, this wouldn’t be a shock at all. In fact… if things had gone differently and Braxton had actually proposed to  _me_ , I might have said yes just so that I could get deeper and learn more. Dean, I’ve devoted five years of my life to freeing my dad from prison, but it’s become more than that.”

          “What is it?” he asked quietly as if he wasn’t sure that you would actually answer.

          “It’s about finding out who I really am. And who my parents really are. I’ve uncovered a lot of shit in the last few years, and… And I think I’m just waiting to find that one piece of information that proves to me that my father really does deserve life in prison.”


	9. Chapter 9

_Quentin walked in and you tossed the rag you were using to wipe down tables at Kallista. “Taking my fifteen.”_

_After grabbing the order that Quentin had texted you a few minutes ago, you led him to a booth. It had been a month since you started working here, and despite your agenda, Quentin and you had actually become friends._

_“I went on a date last night,” you started while he took a bite of his sandwich._

_“Oh yeah? How’d it go?”_

_“He didn’t even know who Cyndi Lauper is. How can I be friends with someone, much less say yes to a second date if they don’t know that girls just want to have fun?”_

_“You’re telling me that his mother has never asked when he’s gonna live his life right?”_

_“And he told me that his dad has never asked him what he’s gonna do with his life. Unbelievable, right?”_

_“But_ you  _know that we’re not the fortunate ones, and that daddy dear is still number one, right?”_

_“Uh, yeah. Duh,” you glanced away just the right way to get Quentin to dig. You hated playing games with him like this. He was a good guy and a great friend. But you still needed info from him. After all, Daddy Dear_ was _still number one in your life._

_“What was that about?” He asked, setting his sandwich down._

_“What was what about?”_

_“You did a thing just then.” He made a vague hand motion in you general direction._

_“It’s just… my dad. He’s in jail for a crime he didn’t commit and I can’t seem to do a damn thing to get him out.”_

_The skin between Quentin’s eyebrows creased in concern. “That’s rough. I’m sorry.”_

_You pretended to get so into your emotions that he would think you didn’t realize that you were oversharing. “It’s just… I lived with him my whole life. You think I would be the best person to know if he was capable of something like that.”_

_“Something like what?”_

_You connected eyes with him and blinked a few times as if coming to your senses. “Sorry, I didn’t realize I was-”_

_“Hey,” he reached for one of your hands. “Whatever people think he did, I promise I won’t think less of you.”_

_“Even if I tell you people think he killed fourteen people in one night?”_

_Quentin stiffened, obviously putting the pieces together and figuring out who you really were. But you pretended to take his reaction a different way and pulled away. “See? Even you can’t help but think that I’m the daughter of a killer.”_

_As if offended, you stood and took a step away. But Quentin’s hand in your arm pulled you to a stop. “Your father is Kemuny Y/L/N?”_

_“You—you know him?”_

_“Yeah. I actually worked with him a few years ago. Well, my firm did and I was kind of like a liaison.” Quentin looked at you in a new light. “I forgot he had a daughter at MIT. What happened?”_

_“MIT was great. But there was the trial and everything and I don’t know… Life.”_

_Quentin motioned at the side of the booth you had just been sitting on, and you sat down again. “I couldn’t believe it when I saw the news.”_

_“Yeah, imagine getting that phone call.”_

_“I don’t know if it’s any consolation, but I really don’t believe that he’s actually guilty.”_

* * *

* * *

           “I still don’t think this is a good idea,” Sam said from the front seat.

          “Then you can let me out at the next bus station and I’ll do it alone.” Neither Winchester said anything to that, but you knew that it wasn’t an option to them. They seemed pretty set on sticking around to help you. “Look, I’ve become level-eleven paranoid lately. If I thought there was even a chance that the Covingtons could be keeping an eye on where we’re going, then I wouldn’t go. But this is my secret. No one else knows.”

          “And you’re just going to bring us right to your secret hideout?”

          You pulled the oversized hoodie closer around you and looked out the window in the backseat. “Yeah, well, I’m kinda learning that you two are breaking all of my rules about trust.”

          “What if there was some way the Covingtons could download all of your memories? Then they would know about this place and what is in it.”

          Your head snapped toward Sam.  _Downloading memories_  as Sam put it, was some of your father’s research that he’d hidden away in his storage unit. Why would Sam know about it, much less be bringing it up now? “You… you believe in that sci-fi stuff?”

          Sam glanced at Dean for a moment before twisting around in his seat to look at you. “You sound shocked.”

          “Yeah, and like you know something,” Dean added.

          While you contemplated how best to answer that, you arranged your face into a stony expression and kept your eyes on Sam’s. You trusted these men, despite knowing them for just over a week. But you couldn’t trust them with everything quite yet. They still owed you some answers.

          “On your laptop you have this icon,” you spoke in carefully measured words. “The unicursal hexagram. What is it to you?”

          Dean raised an eyebrow. “Uni-what?”

          “Wait, are you talking about the Men of Letters symbol?” Sam asked.

          “That thing has a name?” Dean asked.

          “Men of Letters?” You took a moment to flip through your mental filing cabinet for anything on the Men of Letters, but came up short. “Who are the Men of Letters?”

          “What did you think it was?” Sam shot back. From the way both Winchesters had squared their shoulders, you could tell this was a touchy subject for them.

          “No idea. I saw it a few times and looked it up, but got nowhere. Who are the Men of Letters?”

          “Long story.” Sam turned back to face forward.

          You sighed. The three of you were professional secret-keepers, which was great for going through life alone. But if the Winchesters expected you to tell them about your personal mission, then they had to give you something too.

          So you unbuckled, slid to the middle of the seat, and leaned forward so your head was between theirs. “Cards out, boys. Men of Letters, memory downloads, and I heard you whispering about eye flares and shifters a few days ago. What the hell is going on? Don’t try that  _long story_  crap with me. I can handle whatever you throw at me.”

          “Are you sure?”

          “I’m sure that some of my dad’s research had to do with memories, and another set of research talked about eye flares a lot. Those were the ones that I saw the hexagram doodled in the margins of his notes.” You caught Dean’s eyes in the rearview mirror for a moment then turned and locked eyes with Sam as well so that both of them would be able to see the truth. “If you know something, I deserve to know.”

          Sam sighed in defeat. “You’re not gonna believe us.”

          “Or what you have to say will clear up a  _lot_  of confusion in my life.”

          “Fine. We think that the  _you_  that Braxton proposed to is a shifter. As in shapeshifter.”

          Shapeshifter. The nagging thought that had been dancing at the corner of your mind for the last few months finally had a name. “Alright. Evidence?”

          “Really?” Sam raised an eyebrow and turned his torso to face you. “Just like that, you believe me?”

          “I’m keeping an open mind. Why do you think it’s a shapeshifter?”

          “Uh, well shifters get this eye flare when caught on camera. In the videos of the press conferences, I thought I saw a small eye flare from you.” He gave you a moment to take that in before continuing. “But the other thing about shifters is that they  _become_  the person they shift into. They get all of that person’s memories. That’s why I’m not sure it’s a good idea to go to your secret place.”

          “My dad inoculated me against that. It was one of his bigger projects and I saw in my notes that he injected me with a serum that supposedly protected your memories against any invasion when I was four. I didn’t understand any of that project until now, though. That’s how I know this place really is safe.” You pushed down the feeling of overwhelming insanity and forced yourself to focus and accept everything right now. “He also worked on these contacts that controlled how light reflected off the eyes of whoever was wearing them. That’s the eye flare project. What else should I know about shifters?”

          “They can only be killed by silver.”

          “ _Killed_?” That had you sitting back in the seat. When had your life gotten to the point that death became a normal part of the conversation? Where someone would leave you for dead? “Alright. Silver kills them. There were a few tests and notes about silver throughout his research.”

          “Maybe we should take a break and let you—“

          “No! I don’t need time to think about this all. I need to  _know_  it all. Shapeshifters are real. Okay. I accept that. Moving on. What do I need to know about them?”

          You grew up with the scientific method and you had shaped yourself with the structure of computer coding. As long as there was a shred of logic, you could keep going.

          And you  _needed_  to keep going.


	10. Chapter 10

_“I know this is bad timing, but I just need a few days off.”_

_“We’re on a deadline, Y/N,” your manager replied through the phone._

_“I understand that. And I’d be willing to work online while I’m gone. I’ll work overtime when I get back. I’ll even take on more projects if I can get these three days off right now.” You were already packing. If they wouldn’t let you go, then you would threaten to quit._

_There was a beat of silence as you threw some socks into your suitcase. Braxton walked in and raised an eyebrow, but you were too hinged on your phone call to explain it to him._

_“I suppose you can work distance. You_ are _one of the most adept computer analysts we’ve had for a long time. But we still need you to put in at least seven hours a day while you’re gone for the next three days.”_

_“Thank you so much. I promise I’ll get the work done that I need to.” After wrapping up your conversation, you prepared yourself to face Braxton._

_“Don’t tell me that you’re leaving me,” he teased lightly. There was no note of seriousness in his voice. “You just moved in a month ago.”_

_“My dad was attacked. I’m just going to visit him while he’s in the hospital.” Normally you waited for Braxton to initiate any type of physical contact, but at this moment, you just really needed a hug. So you walked over and wrapped your arms around his waist, burying your face in his chest. “I got three days kinda-off from work, but I’ll be back.”_

_“Is he okay?” His concern sounded so real._

_You nodded. “Just a few broken bones and he’ll have some nice scars.”_

_Braxton kissed the top of your head. “I’m glad he’ll be alright. Why don’t you take the jet?”_

_“No. No, no, no. Thank you, but no. Taking a private jet to visit my dad in prison just seems wrong. Besides, I’m not really a private jet kind of girl.”_

_“But you’re_ my _girl,” Braxton pointed out, brushing his thumb over your lips._

_You gave him a soft smile. “I know. And I love being your girl. But this isn’t about us. This is about me and my dad.”_

_“Alright,” he nodded thoughtfully. “Compromise, then. First class. On me.”_

_Your first instinct was to reject the offer. You’d always flown coach. But it would be nice to have the extra room. And if the ticket was on the Covington bill, you would probably get in-flight wifi so you could work. “Fine. Compromise.”_

_“Perfect. I’ll book two tickets right away.” He started to walk away before you could fully process what he’d said._

_“Um, two?”_

_Braxton turned around with a smile. “Yeah. I’m coming with.”_

_“Oh. Really now?” This wasn’t good. “Well I hope you’re not expecting me to introduce you to my father.”_

_“Why not? We’ve been dating for five months. We live together now. You’ve met my parents.”_

_“But your parents aren’t in a hospital, handcuffed to a bed, while hooked up to a lot of machines and undergoing a few surgeries._ And _they haven’t been sitting in a prison for the last four years, worried that their only daughter is throwing her life away by traveling around and not keeping a steady job.”_

_All were very valid and true statements._

_“Trust me on this one: this isn’t the right time to tell him that I moved in with a guy that I’m not married to. Or that I’m dating someone that he’ll see as way out of my league. He’ll think you’re using me, or that I’m using you, and in the state he’s in right now, I won’t be able to explain otherwise.”_

_“You’ve thought about what will happen when you introduce us a lot, haven’t you?”_

_More like what he’ll think when he finds out, since you were never planning on introducing your father to your boyfriend. “He’s my dad, and I love him. And I love you too. But I don’t think you two would get along too well at the moment.”_

_Braxton raised his hands in surrender. “Okay then. I won’t go to the hospital with you. But I’m still coming with you. I want to be there for you. Is that a crime?”_

_“No, that’s actually kind of sweet.” Well, it would be if he was actually coming with just for you. But you had a feeling that he just wanted to sniff around and find whatever it was that he thought he could get from you._

* * *

* * *

          “You were hunting a yeti? Those are real?”

          “We’ve never heard of one in America before. They live in the Himalayas, mostly,” Sam supplied as he flipped through boxes of your father’s research.

          Dean seemed more interested in the science paraphernalia laying around, and the few things you brought in to make the storage unit seem more like home. “But yeah, we were hunting a yeti. That’s why we were on the mountain.”

          The oldest Winchester looked your way and you saw his grin from the corner of your eye, though you were mostly focused on the screen in front of you. “You look a little shocked.”

          “There are… so many monsters.” Sam’s laptop was on your cot in front of you and you were scrolling through the digitized Men of Letters files he had. “What the hell is a rugaru?” You opened the file on rugarus and cringed at the pictures before quickly closing the laptop. That was enough bump-in-the-dark monsters for the day. “Nevermind. I don’t wanna know.”

          “So you lived in here?”

          “Yep.” After setting the laptop on the ground, you stretched and tried to loosen some of your muscles. “I found my dad’s storage unit about six months after he was sentenced. But it was a small, cramped space, so I rented my own.”

          “Credit card tracing?” Sam asked.

          “Fake business bank account. No ties to me whatsoever. I disabled a few of the video cameras that could see me coming in. And I know that the Covingtons don’t know about this place, because everything in here is exactly what they’re looking for. If they knew about it, everything in here would be cleared out.”

          You stifled a yawn, determined to stay awake all day. You absolutely loathed feeling this weak and helpless. Sure, you nearly froze to death. And yeah, maybe you’ve had a really emotional roller coaster the last few months. But that was no excuse.

          “You and Dean could head out and find a hotel room if you want to—“

          “I’m fine,” you said quickly. Stay awake. Anything to stay awake. “Is it weird that I want ice cream? I know that ice cream’s boring cousin almost killed me, but I’m just really craving some rocky road.”

          “Ice cream’s boring cousin?” Sam raised an eyebrow at you, amusement tickling the corners of his mouth.

          “Yeah. Snow is boring. It’s flavorless.”

          “Except for the yellow snow,” Dean pointed out.

          You pointed at him. “True.”

          Another yawn snuck up on you and the boys exchanged a look that you couldn’t miss. They were going to team up and try to convince you to go to a hotel and take a nap.

          “I’m not leaving,” you stated resolutely.

          “Fine,” Dean relented. It was suspicious how quickly he agreed. “Just lay down in your sleeping bag then. I’ll be your heater and Sam can do his nerdy thing. You don’t have to go to sleep.”

          “You sound like my babysitter when I was younger,” you mumbled. But still, you let Dean pull you into the sleeping bag with him. It took a minute, but eventually you two got comfortable on the skinny cot.

          “I just really want an excuse to take a nap,” he whispered in your ear.

          “You’re an adult, you don’t need an excuse to take a nap,” you whispered back.

          “Hey, Y/N? Who is Charles Haverton?” Sam cut in, nose buried in one of your father’s files. “He helped with a lot of these.”

          “Charles Haverton,” you sighed. “Is a dead end. I tried talking to him, but he just insists that even though my dad is a good man, people will surprise you when they are put in impossible situations. He was the first person I talked to about my dad. He used to be his partner until something happened and they called it quits. I still don’t know why.”

          “And I saw the name Victoria a lo—“

          “That’s my mom,” you cut in curtly. “You know that she left when I was six. And I still don’t know why about her either. There’s a lot I still don’t know.”

          Sam fell silent as he flipped through a few files, and your eyelids grew heavy. Maybe an hour or two napping would help clear your mind. After all, it  _had_  been a long drive.

          Then you felt it. That shift in the air when someone finds out something that they don’t want to share. That low buzz of every atom in the room that comes with a newfound secret.

          “What is it?” you asked cautiously.

          “What is what?” Sam replied, just as carefully.

          “You found something.” You sat up and Dean grumbled, but he followed your lead and looked at Sam. “What is it?”

          Stalling, Sam looked back at the file he was holding and flipped through a few pages. “Uh, I think your mom is a werewolf.”


	11. Chapter 11

_“You must be Celeste.”_

_“And of course you’re the lovely Y/N!” The older woman jumped out of her chair and swallowed you in a surprising hug. “You look just like your mother. I just cannot believe how beautiful and mature you look. Why, the last time I saw you, you were just a wee one!”_

_You patted Celeste’s back awkwardly. “Thank you. And thank you for meeting with me.”_

_“Well, when Quentin called and told me that Victoria and Kemuny’s daughter wanted to talk to me, I couldn’t rightly say no, now could I? Please, please have a seat.” Celeste swept her arm toward the diner table she had been sitting at. The tassels on her shawl flew out dramatically._

_As you sat, you took in the bright, flurry of color that was Celeste. She was drastically different from every other scientist you’d met. Her bright, knitted shawl made quite the statement paired with her yellow and pink striped cowboy boots. And that wasn’t even mentioning the beads and feathers hanging from her floppy hat._

_“Didn’t we have a tea party once?” you asked, trying to tug a faint memory from the depths of your mind._

_“Oh, but yes! We used the toy beakers you had just gotten for Christmas as teacups.”_

_“And we cooked the cookies on my dad’s hot plate. I remember you now. I think I talked about that tea party for weeks after you left.”_

_Celeste’s eyes twinkled and she leaned forward conspiratorially. “I_ still  _talk about that tea party.”_

_“It was a good one.” Now that you really remembered who Celeste was, you were much more relaxed than you had been going into the diner. “What did Quentin tell you, when he called?”_

_With a hand over her heart and sorrow in her eyes, Celeste reached for your other hand. “What happened to your father was just tragic, wasn’t it? What kind of twisted soul would frame such a sweet man as Kemuny?”_

_A sigh of relief blew past your lips. You two were on the same page. Thank God. “I was actually hoping you could help me figure that out. Do you know of anyone who would hold a grudge against my dad?”_

_She tapped a long, sparkly fingernail against her chin as she thought about your question. “Your father, well, both of your parents, really. They were both a part of some very controversial research projects. But the projects were also kept in a very tight circle of a select group of people.”_

_“What kind of select group?”_

_An enigmatic smile found its way to her face, and you could have sworn that her pupils changed slightly. “The secretive kind.”_

_“Right.” More secrets. “Well, if my parents were in these groups, then aren’t I in them too? By… by default? Like some kind of a legacy thing?”_

_“That depends.”_

_“On what?”_

_“Your genes. You see, there are certain biological markers that only a small percentage of the world population has. Sometimes these markers are genetic, and sometimes they aren’t.”_

_“Do I have them?”_

_Once again, Celeste tapped her finger against her chin, but this time she was also regarding you thoughtfully. “That’s the question, dear Y/N. Your parents refused to have your DNA tested.”_

_That didn’t make sense. They were both crazy scientists. Any reason they had to perform an experiment, they took. And you were their daughter, so they should have tested your DNA numerous times just for fun._

_“Why wouldn’t they want my DNA tested?”_

_“Have you ever heard of Schrodinger’s cat?”_

_“Of course. Put a cat and a vial of poison in a box. From the time you close the box, the cat is both dead and alive, because we don’t know if the vial has broken or not.”_

_Celeste pointed at you. “Exactly.”_

_“You’re saying that they didn’t have me tested because they didn’t want to know? That as long as I was tested, I both had the biological marker and I didn’t?”_

_“Exactly,” she repeated. “You see, my dear, this biological marker changes everything about your life once you know that you have it. Your parents understood this, and they chose to live in ignorance and denial. You have yet to show the symptoms, so they believe that you do not have the marker.”_

_What was this biological marker? And what sort of symptoms weren’t you showing? “But I could still have it?”_

_Celeste nodded. “A very small portion of it.”_

_“Can you test me?”_

* * *

* * *

          “She’s not a werewolf,” you insisted later that night, after numerous hours of research.

          “You can say that as many times as you want, but it won’t change the facts.”

          Cool blue annoyance flowed through you, and you stood up with your hands on your waist, looking up at the taller Winchester. “The facts? The facts that according to your Men of Letters files, werewolves need to eat hearts, yet there was a surprising lack of bodies in my town when my mom lived there? Human or animal? The facts that I linked several of my memories with my mom to nights of the full moon, and she didn’t change? Those facts?”

          “Werewolves aren’t all bad, Y/N. One of our friends actually got turned into a werewolf and he’s very happy with his wife and peaceful pack of werewolves.”

          “She’s  _not_  a werewolf.”

          Sam sighed and pulled you toward the table to sit, but you refused. “Listen, Y/N. Several of the tests your dad did on your mom were ones that would control the werewolf symptoms. Controlled growth of fingernails, hair, and teeth? The eye research? A few moon cycle references?”

          “The eyes were for the shifter eye flare. And do you know how annoying it is to have to cut your fingernails so often?”

          “You’re grasping.”

          “I’m being logical,” you enunciated clearly, leaning forward slightly for emphasis. “I know my mom. She’s not a werewolf.”

          “She left when you were six,” Dean piped in from the other side of the room. “How much do you really remember?”

          You cast a dirty look at the older Winchester.

          “Why is this such a big deal, anyway? You seemed just fine when we told you that shapeshifters are real.”

          “Because… Because… Because it just is, okay? I’m fine with monsters existing, as long as it’s not…” You wanted to finish that sentence with  _my family_ , but that wasn’t even what was wrong. The idea that you mother could possibly be a werewolf wasn’t actually unwelcome. “No one told me. That’s why this is such a big deal. If she is a werewolf, and I’m not saying that I believe that, then my dad kept this from me for my entire life. Why would he do that? Why did she leave me? I was six! I would have thought that having a werewolf for a mother was the coolest thing! And what exactly did my dad know? Is he some sort of monster too?”

          “Y/N, I know this is hard but—“

          You cut Sam off. “Hard? I’ve spent five years tracking down any information I could find on my parents. And eventually, all of my questions started getting answered little by little. Instead of finding more questions, I was getting answers, confusing as they were. But now I met you two and the questions are piling up again and I’m even further from the truth than I was before. So no. I refuse to believe that my mom is a werewolf.”

          Suddenly overwhelmed by how much you overshared, you turned and headed to the door, pulling on a coat and your boots as you went.

          “What are you doing?” Sam called after you.

          “I need a drink and there’s a bar down the street.”

          “That’s not a good idea.”

          “Why? Because walking a few blocks in the cold won’t be good for someone who is recovering from hypothermia? Or because alcohol will lower my body temperature? I know, Sam. I know this is a stupid move, but I don’t care. My boyfriend’s family tried to have me killed, my mom might be a werewolf, I’ve spent every waking moment of the last week with two men who I just met, and my dad’s still in prison. I need a drink.”

          Apparently neither Winchester felt comfortable dealing with emotional women, because they both remained silent while you finished pulling on your layers. As you opened the door, you heard Sam say Dean’s name softly.

          “On it,” Dean replied, getting up. You assumed he was going to follow you, but you didn’t really care. You just really needed a drink and no one was going to stop you.

          The shapeshifters you could accept. The thought had actually crossed your mind a few times while you lived with Braxton. There were certain members of his family who seemed to be too many places at once. Back then, you had dismissed that. Shapeshifters? That was crazy.

          But now shapeshifters were real. Werewolves? Sure. If shapeshifters were real, then why not werewolves? Vampires, ghosts, whatever the hell a rugaru was. Alright. All real. No big deal.

          You mother being a werewolf? No way.

          By the time you made it to the bar, your teeth were chattering and your mind was a jumbled mess. Nothing was going to stop you from getting a drink. Not even—

          “Braxton?”

          He smiled hesitantly. “Hey, Y/N. I’m glad you’re not dead.”


	12. Chapter 12

_“Congratulations, honey bear,” your father whispered, giving you a hug. His hug knocked your graduation cap off of your head. You disentangled yourself from his embrace quickly enough to grab the hat before it hit the ground._

_“Thanks, daddy.” You took a big breath and looked around at your sea of classmates in their islands of celebration with their own families. “I’m a college grad. Can you believe it?”_

_He smiled proudly and patted your shoulder. “I always knew you could do it. And MIT nonetheless! Now_ that’s _something to brag about!”_

_“Not quite Cornell,” you teased. It was then that you noticed the tension wrinkles around his eyes. “Is something wrong?”_

_“Of course not. My little girl graduated top of her class at MIT and I’ve never been prouder.”_

_Suddenly you realized what was happening. “It’s mom, isn’t it? I miss her too, daddy. I wish she was here.”_

_“I’m sure she’s looking down at you, just as proud as I am.”_

_It took all that you had in you to bite your lip and swallow the familiar argument. He’d lost hope a long time ago that his wife was still alive. But you knew that she wasn’t dead. You could feel it. Your mom was alive._

_But it was your graduation day and you didn’t want to fight._

_So you changed the subject. “Since you’re so proud of me, does that mean you’ll buy me that car I’ve wanted?”_

_“Now that you mentioned it, I think I remember seeing a brand new Maserati with a big bow on it sitting in front of your apartment.”_

_“Seriously? You really bought me the Maserati?”_

_“Brand spanking new, too. Top of the line for my honey bear.”_

_You threw your arms around your father’s neck and hugged him tightly. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”_

_He laughed as you kissed his cheek and started dragging him to the parking lot. The only thing that had gotten you through the last five weeks of your college career was the picture of your dream car taped above your desk._

_And the promise of that car waiting for you was enough to distract you from the sense of dread that was apparent in every line of your father’s face. The test drive you took your new car on with your father in the passenger seat ensured that you could thoroughly enjoy those few hours with him._

_That car was a distraction. You had no idea that your father had a countdown until he was no longer a free man._

_Because three months after he gave you that car, fourteen people were dead and your father was in handcuffs._

* * *

* * *

          “Braxton. You’re—you’re here.” You quickly looked around the room, taking stock of everyone After a moment, you realized how stupid that was. Shifters could look like anyone. His family could be anywhere.

          “And I come in peace,” he assured you, holding his hands up.

          “I don’t believe you.”

          Dean was probably going to be here any minute. Did you want him to take down Braxton or not? After that last few hours, you weren’t thinking too quickly, so you just needed more time. Slowly, you started moving off to the side. Braxton followed as you headed toward a pillar that would hide you from direct sight of the door.

          “Can’t say I blame you.”

          “The last time I saw you, you were leaving me to die.” Unless it wasn’t actually him. “Well, someone who looked like you, anyhow.”

          “There’s a lot you don’t know, but apparently the Winchesters told you part of it.”

          You glanced at the door, just as Dean walked in. “How did you know—“

          “You told me.”

          Since meeting the Winchesters, you hadn’t spoken to any Covington at all. In fact, the only person you had told was—

          “You son of a bitch!” Dean yelled, having spotted Braxton. He raced over and reached into his jacket for, what you assumed to be a silver weapon, but you intercepted him, keeping a hand on his arm to still his movements as you stared at Braxton and tried to wrap your mind around what was happening.

          “You’re t9? No, that can’t be.” You shook your head and turned your back on him, trusting Dean to keep an eye on Braxton while you thought through everything.

          You started chatting with t9 over a year before you met Braxton. Hell, sometimes you chatted with t9 while Braxton was doing work on his own laptop in the same room as you. And you even kept an eye on his screen and he never once had a chat window open.

          “Y/N, what’s going on?” Dean growled.

          “Shut up, Dean,” you snapped, still annoyed with him about the werewolf/mom thing. Then you turned back to Braxton. Or maybe it was a shifter as Braxton. Whatever was happening, you needed more information. “Start talking, Brax.”

          “Maybe we should sit down?”

          “Then you’ll tell me everything? No games?” Somehow you doubted that.

          “You have some explaining to do too,” he pointed out. Braxton waited until you nodded before heading toward a booth.

          Dean grabbed your arm before you could follow. “What the hell is going on? He tried to  _kill_  you. He’s engaged to a shifter that looks like you. Why are you going to listen to him?”

          “Because I need information. And I’m not sure if it was actually Braxton who left me on the mountain or a shifter who looked like him.”

          “And what if this is a shifter too? Besides, if Braxton is a shifter, then the Braxton you started dating probably isn’t even really Braxton.”

          “Silver hurts, right? I always wear this silver necklace that my dad gave to me. Braxton has taken it off a few times and it didn’t burn him. Besides, I have another way to tell if this is my Braxton or a shifter Braxton,” you lied.

          Without waiting for Dean’s argument, you walked toward the booth that Braxton had claimed and slid into the other side, leaving room for Dean. It was time to walk the tightrope of playing games with a Covington. Only this time, you had the problem of an overprotective Winchester by your side.

          “Remember that time we went on vacation in Bali and I convinced you to get high with me?” You asked Braxton. “You said you had never gotten high in your life and I said it was about time?”

          “Of course I remember,” he replied, eyebrows creasing in confusion.

          “What did we talk about?”

          “Y/N, I don’t see how—“

          “Shut up, Dean.” You were so close to kicking him out of the booth. You had to focus all of your attention on figuring out what was going on with Braxton that you couldn’t worry about appeasing him.

          Braxton looked between you and Dean for a moment before answering your question. “I think… I think we talked about starting a business. Making giant inflatable squirrel floaties for pool parties or something stupid like that.”

          “He’s not a shifter,” you falsely confirmed. Truth was, you had absolutely no idea. You just needed Braxton to think that you trusted him enough.

          “A shifter could have known that,” Dean said at the same time Braxton said, “Memories aren’t safe.”

          Well, at least they were both in agreement about one thing. So now it was time to concoct an explanation that would satisfy both of them.

          “That one is. Dean, remember when I told you about the memory thing my dad did to me? Well, I spent a few months with another scientist two or three years ago. She was super interested in memories and a few other things that my dad had been, so we spent a while trying to recreate that serum, but we only came up with a diluted version that would protect your mind for a few hours. I mixed some of that in with the stuff Braxton and I took.” Locking eyes with Braxton, you directed the next sentence at him. “That memory is ours and only ours.”

          A hint of a smile twitched at the corner of his lips, and you mirrored the same expression on your own face.

          “What is going on?” Dean asked slowly, calculatedly looking first at you then at Braxton.

_That_  wasn’t a question you were going to answer in present company. “You tell me, Braxton. I know your family are shapeshifters. And apparently you’re t9. What else do I need to know?”

          “I don’t know where to start…”

          “How about the beginning?” Dean suggested abrasively.

          “It’s not that simple,” you muttered to him. “There are at least four beginnings.”

          Both men waited for your explanation. Dean, to clear up the confusion. And Braxton to see what you knew. “There’s the beginning where we met in that club. Or the one where we met online, if you really are t9. Or the one where my dad was framed for a crime he didn’t commit, but I’m sure your family had something to do with, or the one where your family hired my dad a few times for shady stuff.”

          Braxton leaned forward. “Where do  _you_ want me to start?”

          You were itching to know about how Braxton was t9, but you didn’t know how long you had. And your father  _had_  to be your number one priority. “You’ll tell me the whole truth?”

          “As I know it.”

          “Start with the massacre.”


	13. Chapter 13

_“I love you, sweetheart,” your mother whispered. “Never forget that.”_

_“What’s wrong, mommy?”_

_“Nothing, baby. Everything is going to be perfect, I promise you.”_

_You sat up in your bed and looked at your mother’s gorgeous face in all of your six-year-old seriousness. “Mommy, you’re scaring me.”_

_She pulled you into her arms, squeezing you tightly like she did whenever you woke her up after having a nightmare. “Promise me that you’ll be good for daddy, okay?”_

_“Where are you going?” Through your open door, you could see her suitcase in the hallway._

_Your mother offered you a brave smile and kissed your forehead. “I’ll never be too far away from you, Y/N. I promise. And I’m so proud of you.”_

_“Don’t go, mommy,” you begged. You didn’t understand what was happening, but it frightened you._

_“I love you.” Tears stained her last words to you and you would never forget the sight of her closing your door for the last time._

* * *

* * *

          “Your dad worked on several projects to hide all the tell-tale signs that my family was shifters. He worked for us for years to figure out these things. The aversion to silver, the eye flare on camera, and even the skin thing.”

          “The skin thing?” You looked at Dean, not Braxton, for that explanation.

          “When shifters change form, they leave behind this disgusting pile of skin.”

          The glare Braxton threw at Dean told you that neither man liked each other one bit. “Something like that. But something happened and Kemuny refused to work with my family anymore. That was around the time you were born. Ever since then, my family has kept a close eye on your family.”

          “Even my mom?”

          After a year of dating the man, you knew the look on Braxton’s face. His answer wasn’t one that you were going to like. “No. She disappeared on us the same time she left you.”

          “What else do you know about her?” you asked cautiously.

          “Y/N,” Dean warned.

          Who was he to think that he could keep butting in on the conversation? You met him less than two weeks ago and he was trying to take control of everything? “If he knows something, I want to know too. I’m not going to just blindly trust you and Sam. Especially since you don’t know her.”

          “Well he doesn’t either!” Dean pointed out.

          “Not personally,” you agreed. Braxton was your age. If he was telling the truth and no one had been in contact with your mother since she left, then he would have been around six or seven when she left as well. “But his family did. So he has one up on you.”

          “He tried to kill you,” Dean tried to remind you.

          You raised your chin and leveled a glare at the Winchester. “If you can’t shut up, then you need to leave. I’ve been searching for answers for five years and Braxton is finally ready to give them to me. You don’t understand what is happening here, and I’m not going to explain it to you. And I feel perfectly safe with Braxton, so you can leave me alone.”

          Taken aback, Dean crossed his arms, but he didn’t move and didn’t say anything else.

          Partially satisfied, you turned back to Braxton. “My mom.”

          “We’re looking for her too. She helped a lot with the research that we want from your father.”

          “What about her? Is there anything… specific, that you know about her?”

          He hesitated and you straightened in your seat. It wasn’t often that Braxton was unsure. He was the son of a billionaire and under the protection of a shapeshifter mafia group. There was never any reason for him to be hesitant.

          “Do you know why my family left you on that mountain?”

          “Because I knew too much about them?”

          “Partially. But mostly because they had a theory.”

          “What does this have to do with my mom?” You weren’t sure if you actually wanted the answer.

          He swallowed hard and the muscle in his jaw twitched. “Because we couldn’t find her, you were the next best thing. If you survived, that confirmed their suspicions about her.”

          “No.” Not Braxton too. “She’s… she’s not a werewolf! I’m not half-werewolf or whatever you’re thinking. My family is just a bunch of weird, geeky nerds. My parents love their chemicals and experiments, and I love my computers and coding. That’s it. That’s all we are.”

          Braxton reached across the table and captured one of your hands in his. “Y/N. Think about it. How else do you explain how you survived a winter storm for however long until the Winchesters found you?”

          “But-but-but I’ve never transformed at a full moon. I don’t grow claws and fur and I definitely don’t have a craving for hearts!” You pulled your hand away and retreated to the corner of the booth. If the Winchesters  _and_  a Covington agreed that you mom was a werewolf, then you should probably seriously think about it.

          But you’d rather not.

          Dean shrugged out of his jacket and wrapped it around you. You hadn’t even realized that you were shivering until the heat surrounded you.

          “You’re not a full werewolf. And I’m not a full shifter. We have diluted blood, so we only have a few of the features.” As if that made it any better. “You have your heightened senses and increased survival instinct. I can get memories from a touch, but I can’t shift.”

          “Can you get my memories?” Maybe the best way to deal with all this new information was to ignore it all. That was definitely the healthiest option.

          Braxton shook his head. “No one has been able to. Trust me, they’ve tried.”

          “Told you,” you shot at Dean. The last few minutes had been chuck-full of new information that you really didn’t want to believe, but not the information that you really wanted. So you shoved everything Braxton had said off to the side and refocused yourself. “Back to the massacre.”

          “The things that your parents came up with to hide the shifter signs worked for a while. But a few months before the massacre, they started failing. The contacts stopped hiding the eye flare and silver started to affect everyone again. It wasn’t long before some hunters showed up.” Braxton’s eyes slid over to Dean for a brief moment before he went back to ignoring him.

          “They killed fourteen members of my family, and the rest of my family found the hunters and killed them. But they blamed your dad for not making the contacts and silver serum last. They still think that he did that on purpose. It was just enough time for everyone to start relying on his tech that they didn’t feel the need to hide as much. And fourteen people are dead because his stuff didn’t last. So someone shifted into him and left just enough evidence at that house to get him convicted.”

          Eyes closed, you took a deep breath as you processed his explanation. This was exactly what you’d spent five years of your life on. You finally knew for sure that your dad was innocent.

          But there was no way you would be able to prove it to the right people to get his release.

          And that hurt.

          “I need a drink,” you mumbled, pushing Dean out of the booth.

          “Y/N—“

          “Stop!” you snapped at him. “Stop saying my name like I’m some hurt puppy! Yes, this is a lot of new information about everything I thought I knew about my life. And yes, maybe I’m not thinking too clearly at the moment. But I’m dealing with it how I want to. You saved my life and I’m grateful for that, but it’s still  _my_  life.”

          A muscle in his jaw twitched, but he let you out of the booth. “I’ll come with—“

          “No. You stay here. I’ll get you a whiskey and Braxton can help me. I’m sure he can afford it.”

          Without waiting for Dean’s argument, you grabbed Braxton’s hand and pulled him toward the bar.

          “Bet you wish you would have gotten away from the Winchesters when I told you to, huh?”

          “I’m not too happy with you right now either,” you muttered.

          “You know that I couldn’t tell you about my family,” Braxton defended.

          Choosing to let that one slide, you hopped up on a barstool and controlled your anger and annoyance long enough to order. Braxton slid onto the stool next to you and turned to you expectantly. “You have something to say. I know that look. What is it?”

          “You,” You whispered, preparing yourself for the monologue that would make Shakespeare proud. “I always knew that you were keeping secrets from me. About your family. I knew that you knew about my dad. I mean, not at first. You had me fooled for the first few months. But after that, I knew that this whole relationship was a farce for both of us. I was using you, and you were using me. And that made it okay. But then… then I really fell for you and I know that you really fell for me. Then you tried to kill me. I know—“ you hurried to say before he could cut in. “I know that it wasn’t really you on the mountain.

          “But I also know that you knew they were planning on leaving me there to test their theory and you didn’t let me in on that or try to stop them. And I find out that you’re t9? I’ve been talking to you for years? You’ve been using me for years. You knew about my mom. You knew that my dad was framed. You know all of these things about me and my family that I never knew.

          “Nothing about this is fair. I have every reason to slap you and tell you to get out of my life. Every reason to hate you. But somehow, I still love you.” 


	14. Chapter 14

_You hated dead ends. The few months you spent with Celeste had been nice. Helping her try to replicate some of your father’s research helped you feel closer to him._

_But you were still no closer to getting him out of prison._

_And you were running low on money, which was a problem. Luckily for you, you were an MIT grad with an affinity for slightly illegal hacking adventures. There was always a market for people like you._

_As soon as you got back to the storage unit that you left a year ago in search of Quentin, you set up your safeguards to protect your location and identity and started surfing the web for any job openings. The first few days turned a few suspicious wives and husbands who wanted you to find out if their spouse was cheating on them. It was boring, redundant work, but it put some cash in your burner bank account._

_Then you found an interesting client._

_t9:_ You any good?

_Up6Dn:_ You really shouldn’t ask that. People lie on the internet all the time.

_t9:_ Good answer.

_Up6Dn:_ Here for the small talk or you want to do business?

_t9:_ I’m recruiting.

_That instantly intrigued you. t9 went on to talk about a minor hacktivist group they were thinking of starting, but they didn’t know how to begin. Your roommate in college had been part of one on campus, and you’d helped her out a few times. This could be a good break from your obsessive search for your father’s innocence. Maybe this could restart your brain and you could start over with a fresh, clean slate._

* * *

* * *

          “What did you two talk about?” Sam asked, once Dean caught him up on everything that happened at the bar. Well, Dean’s version anyway. “When you and Braxton went to get the drinks?”

          “Does it matter?”

          Dean huffed. “Do you even want our help? Because you’re going to have to give us a little more than that if you want to figure out how to get your dad out of jail.”

          “I can do it on my own,” you said softly. Was that a lie or not? You weren’t sure. Was the Braxton you saw tonight the real Braxton? You weren’t sure. If he was, did you believe him that he just wanted to help and he wouldn’t report back to his family? Hell no.

          “Fine then. I guess Sam and I will just leave in the morni—“

          “You didn’t answer Dean’s question.” Sam cut his brother off and locked his eyes with yours. “Do you want our help?”

          Did you? Life was so messy right now and you had no idea how to begin making heads or tails of it. Shifters, werewolves, monsters, Men of Letters, Braxton’s stories that felt like they were true, the implication of a Covington knowing that you were alive… Where in the world did you even start unraveling this giant, tangled ball of yarn?

          “I… I guess it would be easier to figure everything out with you two. You know a lot more about this crazy stuff than I do.” And everything inside of you was screaming at you to trust them.

          Sam sighed and came to sit next to you. “Then you have to tell us everything, Y/N. Dean and I are good at stuff like this.”

          “Fine,” you agreed reluctantly. “But can we do this in the morning? I’m kind of done with talking today. I’m going to have some crazy dreams tonight while my brain tries to catalogue everything I’ve learned today.”

          Pulling you into his side, Sam chuckled. The air in the room lightened now that you promised to really let the Winchesters help you. It was like part of the wall you’d built around yourself disappeared into thin air. “We’ll talk in the morning.”

          You leaned against him. “Thank you. And Dean? I’m sorry for snapping at you so many times at the bar.”

          “Explain it tomorrow and I might forgive you,” he replied gruffly, heading in to take his turn in the bathroom.

          For a few minutes, you and Sam sat in silence. So much had happened today. Way too much happened. But there was one thing that stood out.

          “My dad  _is_  innocent,” you whispered. “Braxton wasn’t lying about that. He’s innocent, and I can’t prove it. This sucks.”

          “We’ll talk about it tomorrow, remember?” Sam squeezed your shoulder gently. “Let’s get your mind off of everything right now.”

          “I’ve spent five years obsessing over this, Sam. And now you think I can get my mind off of it?”

          He grinned. “I can try. Lay back.”

          With his arm around your shoulder, he pulled you backwards until you were lying down with your legs hanging off the edge.

          “Now close your eyes. Just do it, okay?”

          After giving him a skeptical look, you did as he asked. As tired as you were, you weren’t even tempted to go to sleep right now. There was way too much on your mind. Too much new information. It had been a week of revelations that accumulated into everything that happened today.

          “Have you ever been skiing?”

          “What?” Your eyes popped open and you twisted your head to look at him. That was such an off-the-wall topic.

          “Close your eyes,” he said, pretending to be annoyed that you didn’t follow directions, but there was a brightness in his eyes that told you otherwise. And there was just something about his eyes that made it hard to look away for a moment. Then Dean came out of the bathroom and you managed to close your eyes again and surrender to whatever Sam wanted to try to get your mind off of your life. “Skiing. You ever been?”

          “A few times in college.”

          “What was your favorite part?”

          This was stupid, but you decided to play his game anyway. “The ski lift.”

          “Why?”

          “I dunno. There’s just something about having your feet hang over twenty feet of air and how the chairs sway. It’s kinda like a tiny adrenaline rush.” And sitting on those chairs with your friends, giggling and making jokes was the best part of the day.

          “You ever go on moguls?”

          You had to laugh at that. Sam thought you were coordinated to make it off the bunny hill? “Are you kidding me? I crossed my skis so many times on the small hills that no one in their right mind would let me go anywhere else.”

          “How about snowboarding?”

          “Half a day and I gave up. Spent the rest of the day in the lodge drinking hot cocoa and checking out the cute guys.” You cracked open an eye and glanced over at Sam. “This isn’t working, you know. I’m still obsessing over my dad and Braxton and everything.”

          “Why don’t you get ready for bed and I’ll try to think of some other way to distract you?”

          After a few weeks with the Winchesters, you learned to grab as much bathroom time as you could. It was the only time you were completely alone, and those few minutes were exactly what you needed to recharge yourself.

          A drink alone. That was what you wanted. But instead, you got your manipulative ex, an overprotective Winchester, and too much information.

          When you saw Braxton, you had completely frozen. It was like your brain couldn’t process that he would actually be able to find you. But you fell back on old habits and acted cautiously ignorant. As long as people thought that they had the upper hand, they tended to reveal more information than they originally planned. So if Braxton thought he had you right where he wanted you, then you would buy more time to figure out what the hell was going on.

          Why hadn’t Braxton come to kill you? Why did he let you leave with Dean, without a fight? Why did he tell you the truth now? There was no doubt in your mind that he had been telling what he believed to be the truth about your parents. Your instincts told you that he wasn’t lying, and you trusted your instincts.

          But why now?

          Later. You could think about this in the morning. Right now, you needed a good night’s sleep so that you actually could think clearly. So you finished getting ready and climbed in bed while Sam took his turn in the bathroom.

          “I know you said no more talking tonight, but do you think he was telling the truth about your mom?” Dean asked, settling into the other bed.

          “Yes. And,” you sighed, “And I always knew that you and Sam were telling the truth. You both believed that she was a werewolf. I wasn’t trying to call you a liar, or anything. I just… I didn’t want to believe. But after tonight, I know that I can’t afford not to trust you guys. So from now on, Dean, I’m gonna try better.”

          He nodded a few times. “Okay. Good night, Y/N.”

          “Night, Dean,” you whispered as he turned over in bed so his back was to you. Sam came out of the bathroom and climbed in beside you, plastering his body to yours. 

          You’d slept with Braxton for nearly a year. Sharing a bed wasn’t something that was new to you, but you never really got used to someone else next to you.

          Sam, though… There was just something about him that was comforting and natural. Maybe it was because you woke up next to him in the sleeping bag and your brain correlated him with safety. Whatever it was, whenever Sam’s arms encircled you, you could completely relax for the first time in five years.

          Your first impression of him was right. Sam Winchester was dangerous. Just not in the way you first thought.


	15. Chapter 15

_“Hi, daddy.”_

_Your father winced when he tried to smile. “Honey bear. You came!”_

_“Of course I did.” You looked around at the tubes and wires attaching your father to monitors. “I couldn’t pass up the chance to give you a real hug.”_

_Leaning over the railing on the bed, you carefully wrapped your arms around him as much as possible. Tears sprang to your eyes at the thought that you could only touch your dad after he’d just been attacked. Otherwise, your conversations had a thick pane of glass between you two._

_“Did he come with you?”_

_You pulled back with furrowed brows. “Who?”_

_“That Covington you’ve been seeing. I’ve seen it on the news a few times.” His dark brown eyes locked onto yours intensely. “He’s dangerous, Y/N. You need to break it off.”_

_You knew that. But you also needed to know more. So you lied to your father, knowing that it was the only way he would let the issue drop. “He’s not a bad man. I love him.”_

_“Sweetie, you don’t know the Covingtons. You’re better off as far from them as possible.”_

_“And you know them? How?”_

_His expression closed off and you stifled a groan. He wasn’t going to tell you. “If you insist on staying with that boy, watch your back.”_

* * *

* * *

          “So the attacker comes up from behind you,” Sam narrated while he did just that. His arm came around your neck, pretending to choke you. “What do you do?”

          “Bitch, please. I’ve seen Miss Congeniality,” you muttered, moving to elbow him in the solar plexus and stomp on his instep.

          Sam and Dean knew how to fight, so you asked them to teach you some moves. After what happened, you figured that it would be best if you knew how to defend yourself a little. So now the motel beds were against a wall and everything was moved out of the way. Dean left a few hours prior to check up on a few loose ends in their own lives, leaving self-defense teacher-duty to Sam.

          “Not bad. But shifters are quick to recover so you have to have more than a few moves in mind. If you start running away and they aren’t out of the game, it won’t be long before they have you in another position like—“

          Before you could blink, Sam had you across the room with your back against the wall, arms above your head with your wrists held in one of his hands, his other arm firmly across your neck, and his feet between yours.

          “So what do you do in this situation?”

          You struggled against his hold for a moment, trying to find any weak spots. Your arms were out of the question: his hold on your wrists was like steel. And the arm across your throat made it impossible to headbutt him. With his legs between yours, kneeing him in the groin wasn’t an option. You tried wrapping your leg around his and pushing his knee inward, but he anticipated that movement and didn’t let it loosen his grip.

          “I can’t do it, Sam,” you groaned.

          “Think, Y/N.” His eyes bore into yours. “In this situation, you’re gonna be desperate. You’re gonna be scared. That makes you do crazy things that might actually work.”

          “Sam, I’m a computer nerd. My type of crazy is that time I hacked into the FBI database because I was bored and I wanted to see if I could. Which I did. But I don’t know how to do this physical fighting stuff.”

          His pressed closer, the arm across your neck actually starting to cut off your air supply. “So when Braxton decides he’s had enough of your games and actually does try to kill you, you’re gonna beg him to go easy on you because you sit behind a screen all day? That’s weak. C’mon, Y/N.”

          You weren’t weak. Weak people didn’t survive two days on a freezing mountain. Weak people didn’t pretend to be in love with a socioopath for a year just for information. Weak people would have given up on your mission long before now.

          You weren’t weak.

          Narrowing your eyes, you thought through the situation again. A moment later, you figured that you had nothing to lose.

          With your limited movement, you managed to jump up just enough to wrap your legs around Sam’s thighs. The unexpected shift of your weight had him stumbling forward a step and the grip on your wrists loosened just enough for you to twist your hands around and grab ahold of  _his_  wrist. Once you had a firm grip, you jerked his arm to the side and, with his compromised balance, his body twisted enough for him to fall over, taking you with him until you both landed on the floor.

          “Oh my god! I did it!” You pushed off of Sam’s chest so you were only straddling his thighs and raised your arms in the air victoriously as a rush of excitement coursed through your body.

          He grinned up at you and propped himself up on his elbows. “Don’t sound so surprised.”

          “But I am. You should have seen me in PE in high school. I spent more time in the nurse’s office than in class.”

          Sam sat up, bringing the two of you within inches of each other. He reached behind you, resting a hand on your back for support, but all that his touch seemed to do was short-circuit your nerves. “But I bet you kicked ass in the classroom, right?”

          How was it that when Sam was pressed against your body pretending to be an attacker that you could focus completely, but as soon as the tension from that was gone, being this close seemed to destroy all of your words? You’d spent so many nights tangled with this man, for crying out loud, and he’d never affected you this way!

          “As far as transcripts go, I kicked ass everywhere. I actually hacked into the school records and changed my grade in PE to an A.”

          At that, Sam chuckled, his torso swaying towards you slightly.

          You knew it was probably not the best idea. There were a dozen reasons you should just stand up and walk away. But after your self-defense achievement, you were still on a high and it didn’t take much to dip your head and cover Sam’s lips with yours.

          The few seconds it took for Sam to react seemed to stretch out. It was like a slow-motion explosion scene. A spark lit the veins in your lips, and that detonation spread a fire racing throughout your body. Then Sam wrapped his arms around you, pulling you against his chest and the world seemed to combust in that moment.

          This was real. You weren’t playing some game to get more out of Sam. And he wasn’t trying to manipulate information out of you either.

          This was the kind of kiss that you dreamt of. Hands tangled in hair, fingers digging into skin, heady, needy gasps between kisses.

          Then Sam’s phone rang and you broke the kiss with ragged breaths. The phone rang two more times, but neither of you moved. “You should probably get that,” you whispered. “It could be Dean.”

          Sam nodded shallowly, and you climbed off of him so he could go get his phone off the table. “Hey, Dean.”

          While Sam talked to his brother, you scooted back until you were sitting against the wall. That kiss was… something else. It was definitely something that you wanted to happen again, but you weren’t sure if it was the best idea. Doing anything to keep your feelings platonic seemed like the best option at the moment. There was enough drama in your life without adding to it.

          “Uh-huh,” Sam muttered slowly. “Sure. Just let me tell Y/N before—“

          In the blink of an eye, there was suddenly two more men in the room and you nearly screamed.

          “—they show up…” Sam sighed. “Nevermind.”

          “Hello, Sam,” the newcomer in the trenchcoat greeted formally, and Sam hung up on Dean. Deciding that you’d much rather be on the same level as everyone else, you stood up on shaky legs.

          “Cas. This is Y/N. Y/N, meet Cas and Crowley.”

          You couldn’t move. Teleportation was an actual thing? It wasn’t just sci-fi? Well, if shifters were real, then you supposed teleportation wasn’t too far away.

          “What are they?” you asked cautiously. Anxiety started building up at the thought of adding someone else to your already complicated life.

          “I am an angel of the Lord,” the trench-coated man answered in a no-nonsense voice.

          “And I’m the King of Hell.” The accent surprised you more than the title. Or maybe you were just processing things in the wrong order due to shock. “Lovely to meet you, Y/N. Squirrel has told me very little about you.”

          “Sam?” you called with wide eyes.

          He hurried over and wrapped an arm around your waist. “Cas is a friend, Y/N. And Crowley…”

          “I’m like family,” The stocky King of Hell supplied when Sam faltered for an explanation.

          Sam was quick to throw that explanation out. “No, he’s not.”


	16. Chapter 16

_“Excuse me, what?”_

_“My family,” Braxton repeated a little slower, clearly enjoying catching you off guard. “They want to meet you.”_

_In the two months that you’d known Braxton, and the one month you’d been dating him, you had grown comfortable with your life. Sure, you knew that you would have to meet his family at some point if you wanted to get any information from them. But even the few hints you’d gotten from him over the last few weeks made you nervous. His family definitely wasn’t normal, and it wasn’t just because they were incredibly rich._

_There was something off about the Covingtons._

_“You know,” you started off regretfully. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you for a few days. I think it’s time we ended things—“_

_Braxton just laughed at your obvious attempt to get out of this dinner. “Nice try. But you aren’t getting away from me that easily.”_

_Even as he drew you in for a kiss, you were analyzing that sentence. You were nearly 100% sure that he didn’t know who you really were. That he had no idea about your connection through your family. But then he would say slightly menacing things like that with just the right amount of seriousness in his voice to throw you off._

_“Actually, now that I think about it, I think I’m working that night—” you tried again, mumbling against his lips. His lips stretched into a grin and he shook his head. You let your body relax against his in surrender. “I need better lies.”_

_Pulling back, Braxton smirked down at you. “I know you’re not working that night because dinner is tonight.”_

_“What?” you screeched._

_“In an hour. I actually stopped on my way home from work to get you something to wear. So you have absolutely no excuse not to come to dinner.”_

_Your mouth was slightly open as your mind raced through possible scenarios to delay meeting his family until you were ready. “What if it doesn’t fit?”_

_There was a gleam in his eyes that made you feel left out of an inside joke. “It’ll fit. I promise.”_

_Though you doubted him at first, a few minutes later proved him right. The dress fit like a glove. Braxton had chosen a simple, pastel yellow, lace-overlay, long-sleeved dress that nipped in at your waist and flowed out at your hips. It was understated and exactly the kind of dress that you would have chosen if you had to._

_It irked you that he had picked the perfect dress. He shouldn’t know you that well yet. Especially since you’d been deceiving him since day one._

_“See? I told you it would fit,” Braxton complimented, stepping into the room. You looked away from your reflection long enough to see him advancing on you, then he was right behind you. His hands at your waist pulled you back into him, and he kissed your cheek. “And I knew that you would look beautiful. Now let’s go meet my family.”_

* * *

* * *

         The angel who was a friend and the King of Hell who wasn’t like family. Why did your life seem to get weirder every minute?

         “And why are they here?” After the past week, you’d nearly reached your limit for taking these kinds of information dumps in stride and you were about ready to scream and insist that everyone leave. Angels and the King of Hell? There was absolutely no way this was going to go down easy for you. Dean had to have known that.

         “Dean thought Y/N might be able to help,” Cas replied. “There are some factions in Heaven that—“

         “No.” You were vehemently shaking your head. “Absolutely not.”

         “Y/N, darling,” Crowley took a step forward and you held out your hands to ward him off.

         “No. I’m not going to help with your Heaven and Hell problems. I don’t even want to know. First off, I was raised by scientists. I don’t believe in God or angels or whatever. Second, I’m having a hard enough time figuring out my own life right now.”

         Pushing away from Sam, you headed toward where you tossed your coat and boots. This room was way too small at the moment.

         “I just found out for sure that my dad is innocent, and there’s not a damn thing I can do about it. I just found out that the guy I’ve been living with for the past year has an entire family of mafia shapeshifters. I just found out that my mom is a werewolf. And did everyone forget that I nearly died two weeks ago? I don’t know why Dean thought that I would be able to help with Heaven and Hell problems. This is way too much.”

         “Y/N—“ Sam started toward you.

         “I’ll be back later. You… you do what you need to. Call when they’re gone.”

         You were nearly to the street when Sam came running out after you. “Wait, Y/N! Where are you going?”

         In that moment, you made a split-second decision. “To deal with my kind of crazy while you deal with yours. While you figure out why Dean thought I could help your buddies in there, I’ll be with Braxton. I need him to trust me again if I’m ever going to get away from his family alive.”

         “Alone? You’re going to be with Braxton alone?”

         “If he was going to kill me, he would have done it already. The mountain was just a test. Now I need to figure out why they’re letting me live now that they know about my mom.  _That’s_  what I can deal with right now. I can’t deal with—“ you gestured toward the hotel room where the man who claimed to be the King of Hell was peeking out of the curtain.

         “But you’ll come back?”

         The angel and King of Hell had chosen the worst time to show up. You took a few steps back to Sam and offered a soft smile. “After that kiss? You can bet that I’ll be back.”

         “What about this one?” Sam curled his hand around the back of your neck and dipped his head to kiss you. Your fingers tangled in his shirt and you went up on tiptoes to press closer as the sparks from Sam’s kiss pushed the cold winter air away.

         “I’m definitely coming back tonight,” you grinned, taking a step back. “Get rid of Tweedledee and Tweedledum. I’ll see you in a few hours.”

         After one more glance at the window where two pairs of eyes were watching you, you turned and hurried down the street toward the warmth of the bar. You had every intention of calling Braxton, but first you wanted that drink alone that you’d been denied last night.

         Somehow, for the first time in a long time, everything went your way and you actually got that drink. You were able to sit at the bar and no one came over to hit on you. No ghosts from your past showed up. No angels or werewolves or shifters or Winchesters popped up. You just sipped on your drink and watched the few people drunkenly dancing to some pop-country song.

         But once your glass was empty, you had to get back to the real world, which now included fairytales, apparently. So you pulled out your phone and dialed the number that you memorized as soon as he gave it to you over a year ago.

         “Can you come pick me up? I’m at the bar.”

         Not even five minutes later, Braxton was walking through the doors and immediately spotted you.

         “No Winchesters?”

         “Not tonight.” You dragged your finger around the rim of your glass, trying to think of where you wanted this night to go. What kind of information you wanted from him. The best way to get him to open up.

         “I’m actually kind of sick of everything right now.” You looked up at him with tired, hopeful eyes. “Can we do something… normal?”

         He took a seat next to you and eyed you suspiciously. “Normal?”

         “I’m overwhelmed, okay? Everything you told me and everything the Winchesters told me and these two guys teleported into the motel room claiming to be angels or whatever. I need a night where I forget about it all and pretend nothing happened between us so we can just watch a movie and order room service or something. Otherwise, I’m going to go crazy.”

         “Angels?”

         Well  _that_  certainly piqued his interest. “Yeah. Apparently angels exist and they wear trench coats.”

         “Why did the angels come by?”

         You narrowed your eyes. There was so much more to this line of questioning than just simple curiosity. Braxton knew something. “Do you really think I stuck around to find out? Maybe I’ll ask Sam when I go back, but I just want to forget right now. Please?”

         He was struggling to push away his concern at the unexpected visitors you had. “Alright. Let’s go get some takeout and watch some Netflix.”


	17. Chapter 17

_This time it was you who left the comment. It wouldn’t be long before t9 got back to you. Whoever they were, t9 never seemed to be very far from the computer. They would see your message quickly and contact you._

_Sure enough, not even ten minutes passed before a new chat popped up on your borrowed email._

          HalezLuvRye:  _Find anything? –t9_

          UnionBabe: _HalezLuvRye? Really? You couldn’t find a better email handle to borrow? –Up6Dn_

          HalezLuvRye _: Speak for yourself Union Babe._

_You had to laugh out loud at that one. In the past few months, you and t9 had forged a strange sort of friendship. It was weird how close you could grow to someone when you didn’t know a thing about them. Online relationships were strange, but at the same time, they were some of the best relationships you’d ever forged._

          UnionBabe:  _Touché._

          UnionBabe:  _You know anything about the Covingtons? Rich, connected family in California?_

          HalezLuvRye:  _Want background checks?_

          UnionBabe:  _Please? I just need to know if it’s worth it to check out this lead or if it’ll be another dead end._

          HalezLuvRye:  _Sure thing. But shouldn’t you check out every lead? Just to make sure you don’t miss anything?_

_t9 made a good point. No matter what the background checks turned up, you would go to California anyway. Might as well get a head start now._

 

* * *

* * *

          “Why are you engaged to shifter-me?” you asked in the fifteen seconds it took Netflix to change to the next episode.

          “I thought you didn’t want to talk about anything like that tonight.”

          You grabbed the remote and paused the show. “I want to talk about  _this_. There’s no future for us, Braxton. I know it wasn’t you on that mountain, but I keep seeing your face. So… we’re pretty much over for anything serious and I think you know that. But it still hurts to see my ring on someone else’s finger. Even if that someone else looks like me.”

          “If I had proposed before the mountain, would you really have said yes?” Now he was sitting up and the two of you were facing each other on his hotel bed.

          “Maybe. My dad hates you and your family. Your family creeped me out even before the mountain. Half of our relationship was fake. But… but I might have said yes. Because, before everything happened, I could have put up with anything if it meant keeping you in my life.”

          His thumb rasped over your knuckles, and you squeezed his hand. Being around Braxton seemed so normal. Sure, most of what you said were lies, but you’d grown used to these lies over the last year. Half the time, you nearly believed them yourself. This was your normal.

          And you actually liked it.

          “I guess I blew it, didn’t I?”

          “Maybe we were never meant to last. The only reason I came to town was to try and weasel my way into your family to learn what their connection was with my dad. And I thought it was a big coincidence when my first night in town, I ran into Braxton Covington and he actually paid attention me. Now I know that you were trying to weasel your way into my life to figure out whatever your family wants from my dad. And I actually knew you as t9 for a year before that.” You sighed heavily. “This was never a real relationship.”

          “Hey now, we had good times,” he said defensively.

          Some memories of the brighter times popped up in your mind and you smiled fondly. “Yeah. We did. And maybe in another life we could have actually been good together.”

          “But not this one? You don’t think we can make it work?”

          “Your family tried to kill me,” you reminded him flatly. “Besides, you’re already engaged to shifter-me, so obviously things between you and real-me aren’t going to work out. I don’t condone cheating.”

          Your slight jab coaxed a smile out of him. “Is it really cheating if it’s just a different version of you?”

          “Why? Why does your family want it to look like I’m engaged to you?”

          His eyes dropped to where your hands were tangled between you two. “Your dad doesn’t approve of our relationship. Stands to reason that your mom doesn’t either.”

          With a long sigh, you turned your head away to process that. “I know I should be mad at you for trying to manipulate things and draw my mom out of wherever she’s hiding, but I can’t even begin to tell you how much I love that you really think she’s alive. Even my dad thinks she’s dead.”

          “But you don’t. And that’s enough for us. You’re part of her pack. It’s a werewolf thing. You would feel it if she died.”

          Oddly enough, that was the most comforting thing you’d heard in a long time. Never in a million years would you have thought that having a supernatural connection to your mom would be the best thing you would hear. But Braxton’s words calmed your very soul.

          She was alive.

          And sure, Braxton was a liar. Sure, he spent the whole relationship manipulating you. Sure, his family tried to kill you. Sure, you should hate him. But you didn’t. You weren’t in love with him either, but you actually felt that Braxton was your friend, in a weird way. You liked him despite the complicatedness of the world.

          You leaned over and pressed a light kiss to his lips. “Thank you.”

          “For what?”

          “You. You just gave me my mom back. And it’s because of you that I know for sure that my dad is innocent. I’ve… I’ve been struggling with those for a while.” You let the tender moment stretch out a second longer before breaking eye contact and reaching for the remote. “I can probably handle one more episode before I head back to my room.”

          Braxton grabbed the remote from you before you could press play. “I’ve done a lot of explaining. It’s your turn.”

          “Braxton,” you whined. But he held firm and you knew it was pointless to argue. “Fine. What do you want to know?”

          “You lied to me.”

          “What time are you referring to?” Now that neither of you had to pretend that there was nothing wrong with your relationship, you could be completely open.

          “You know where your father’s research is, don’t you?”

          “I do. But I’m not giving up the location.”

          He tilted his head and narrowed his eyes. Braxton wasn’t used to people telling him no. And he definitely wasn’t used to this blunt truth from you. “Why? You know that his research could help my family. All shapeshifters, actually. Werewolves too. And I’m sure there are other projects that could benefit so many people.”

          “Because it’s his Land of Hollen. He never gave up mine, so I’m not giving up his.”

          “That doesn’t make any sense.”

          “It’s our secret,” you simplified. “He has to have his reasons why he hid his research away. And until I know those reasons, I’m going to trust him. No one but he and I will know until he says otherwise.”

          And the Winchesters. But that would be giving Braxton way too much information.

          “Then go talk to him.” At your wide eyes, Braxton explained further. “You know the truth now. About my family and your mom. Make him explain.”

          “Have you met my dad? Getting answers out of him is like trying to make ice cubes over a volcano. And as soon as I mention my mom, he’s going to completely shut down and we’ll get into a huge fight and it’ll all be for nothing.” You could tell that Braxton definitely didn’t like that answer. “Give me some time, Brax. I need to figure out how to look at the world now that I know about shifters and werewolves and whatever the hell a rugaru is. I need to figure out how I feel about this stuff before I let my dad try to convince me any other way.”

          “ _Then_  you’ll talk to him?”

          “Why do you want me to talk to him so badly? What does your family need his research for?”

          “I’ll tell you as soon as you tell me where I can find that research.”

          You were good at keeping secrets. You weren’t as good about letting people keep secrets from you, but you understood where he was coming from. “Fine. Let’s watch another episode and then you can take me back to my motel. We can end tonight with our own secrets and without a fight.”

          “Or you could stay here with me tonight,” he suggested, trailing his fingers over your arm.

          You shook your head shallowly. “I meant it that we’re over, Brax. Besides, you’re an engaged man.”

          “I’ll break things off with her for you.”

          A soft laugh escaped your lips and you leaned against him, resting your head on his shoulder. “Just start the episode already.”


End file.
